


Cops and Robbers

by ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong (Sagnessagiel)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, M/M, Romance, spy AU, well more like thief and interpol agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagnessagiel/pseuds/ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong
Summary: Sorey is an Interpol agent pursuing a high profile case. Mikleo is an international thief. Sparks fly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my betareaders, tsureh and KrisseyCrystal, my co-conspirator Chocobochild, and Dejinyucu for providing the art. You can find tsureh and Deji on tumblr, and Krissey and Chocobochild here :)

The Forton mansion. A grand example of craftsmanship and exquisite architecture that stands tall over the city of Pendrago. Home to an annual masquerade ball the likes of which few people ever see. Nobles and magnates from all over the world meet to speak and conduct business under the guise of celebration, all with one thing in common: an often unprovable yet strong connection to criminal activity.

Sorey is here on a borrowed ticket, on a mission for interpol which could lead to a breakthrough in his current case. He is here tonight with the hope of an arrest, preferably without ruining the festivities in the process.

Disrupting the event would rob it of its use to Interpol operations. The ball holds an astounding amount of trust among the criminal underworld. It takes him some quick thinking and some favours from deeply embedded contacts to get in.

Presenting an invitation issued to one Joshua Keene, he talks his way past a stoic guard at the door. Clad in a black suit and simple domino mask, Sorey does not draw as much attention as the others waiting to be let in. It takes some doing to properly turn on the charm with part of his face obscured, but he manages.

The inside of the mansion is just as flashy as the outside. Mahogany and marble floors and gold and silver paint surround him on all sides. The elegant patterns and wall decorations probably cost more than he can imagine. There are several paintings in the hallway leading to the ballroom. They all depict prominent members of the Forton family. Closest to the ballroom is the latest heir to the family fortune: Runette Forton sits before a dark background, clad in elegant red and white. Her gaze is hard, contrasting with the soft lines of her face. Sorey walks past her nonchalantly, as the role demands of him.

The ballroom is wide and open, yellow and white and gold as far as he can see. The polished stone floor reflects the many chandeliers above, highlighting every bit of jewelry in the room to dazzling levels. Already, Sorey is beginning to develop a headache.

After some reconnaissance and a report of his status, spoken discreetly into the microphone decorating his collar, he finds a vantage point in a bustling corner of the room. He busies himself with introductions and airy small talk, acting the perfect gentleman. Subtly, he keeps an eye on the dance floor.

Alisha needs time to get into position. Zaveid, who has command of this mission, informs him through his earpiece that she is mingling, establishing a pleasant and nonthreatening presence among the guests. Sorey will just have to wait patiently until she can get a read on the target.

It is profoundly boring work to maintain this cover. He talks amicably and shakes hands. He brags about his cover's accomplishments (a carefully crafted list that he weaves seamlessly into conversation) and subtly shows off his silver watch and cufflinks. He is not ornately dressed by any means, but he makes use of what he has. It takes a good half hour of this back and forth before something truly interesting happens.

Sorey is in the middle of cozying up to a duchess (he acts as though he knows exactly which one) when a warm voice sounds in his ear.

"Well now, there's a face I didn't expect to see."

Sorey does not turn around, and he pointedly does not flinch. It takes more than a little stealth to rattle him. He excuses himself from her grace's company with the utmost politeness before turning to the newcomer. He then comes face to face with a mask in shades of purple shaped like a butterfly, adorned with rhinestones and sequins. White lenses reflect light, mimicking the glint in the eyes underneath.

His name is Mikleo, a high profile thief working internationally and with hardly a trace. A prioritised case at Interpol, which Sorey knows amuses him to no end. He is intelligent, cunning, charming, and most importantly, not on tonight's guest list.

True to character, he smirks mischievously, tilting his head to the side.

"May I have this dance?"

All at once, the mission changes. Sorey's heartbeat speeds up, strategy arranging and rearranging in his mind. He needs to adapt.

His face remains impassive as he weighs his options.

He needs to alert Zaveid and Alisha, and keep this new variable under control. Reaching for his collar and triggering his comm would be too unsubtle, now, and he has yet to spot Alisha or the target. Sorey makes a decision, and lets his expression settle into a warm smile.

"I would be honoured."

Mikleo offers his hand. Though his mask hides part of his expresson, his mouth makes up for it. His smile is wide, his amusement clear.

"I almost didn't think you were going to show up," he says, as Sorey leads him to the dance floor. Sorey wonders just how much he knows.

"I make it a habit to exceed expectations," he replies, because he may as well have fun with it.

They assume a basic stance, in which Mikleo graciously allows him to take the lead. He gives Sorey a calculating look.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm sure that you do."

They take the first step, falling into the rhythm with only minimal adjustment. Without moving his head, Sorey glances around the room, maintaining his lookout. He also allows himself a closer look at his partner.

In all the times they have met, he has never seen Mikleo look the same way twice. His disguises are many and varied, as well as the personas he maintains. True to form, he is wearing a beautifully tailored lilac suit with a tie to match the gaudy mask. His hair (extensions? wig?) has been pulled into an elaborate updo with some artfully stray curls framing his face. It is a platinum blond at the moment, so light it borders on white, with highlights to match the purple theme.

"Interesting outfit," Sorey mutters in a low tone. Mikleo breathes a laugh, too quiet to be heard beyond the two of them.

"Can't say the same for you. Did you think you were going to guard the president or something?"

Sorey pointedly does not look down at his plain suit and tie. The point of them is not to draw eyes, but to allow them to pass over him without remark. If he is to be honest, he is already annoyed by the sheer formality of this place.

"Maybe I just didn't want to dress up as a Batman villain," he says.

Mikleo tilts his head again, and without his eyes visible it is difficult to discern the emotion it conveys.

"Sorey," he says, and that action alone is a taunt. It is a reminder that Mikleo knows his usual code name, a fact that Sorey definitely did not volunteer himself. "Look around you."

Sorey has been doing nothing else since he got here. The decadence of this party is quite ridiculous. Gold plated everything, with flashy guests to match in bright and expensive clothing. Jewelry of silver and gold with gems too large to be subtle or classy. This party is a show of power and a place to make sinister connections. Nothing more.

"You think this is a place to play James Bond?" Mikleo steps backwards, allowing Sorey to guide him along. "This is Gotham city, and you're in the Iceberg Lounge."

Sorey huffs. His smile becomes genuine, just for a moment.

"I thought it flattering. You don't like it?"

Mikleo meets his look. His smile is uncertain, as though he is trying to discern a joke Sorey might have told. His hand drifts from Sorey's shoulder, down to the knot of his tie.

"I don't like this," he says, tugging lightly. "I think it should match your eyes."

Sorey narrows said eyes, but it is not visible beneath the mask. This is another taunt, one which annoys him even more. It reminds him that Mikleo's own eyes have gone through more colours than a rainbow in the times they have met before.

What is more frustrating is the fact that since it is a masquerade, it is very possible that Mikleo has foregone the lenses tonight. It would be a gesture perfectly suited to his brand of humour, as annoying Sorey seems to be one of his greatest pleasures in life.

Sorey tightens his arm on Mikleo's back, pulling him close and gently forcing his arm out from between them. It lands on his shoulder, light as a feather, while Mikleo melts into his embrace as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you giving me beauty tips, Lavender?" He mutters it into Mikleo's ear. Mikleo chuckles.

"Touché," he whispers, and drags Sorey into an elegant turn.

* * *

Alisha stands in the corner of the room, trying to look as casual as she can with her posture so perfect. She nurses a champagne flute at an impressively slow pace as she looks around the large ballroom.

It is impressive how many criminals you can put in one room if you have enough influence. Alisha recognises many faces, a lot whose cases she has worked herself. Luckily there is no one unexpected, and so no one that she has arrested before. None of them will recognise her or Sorey by sight alone.

Her dress is a wide puffy slope of silk that shines in the light of the chandeliers. It is not the first time she wears such a thing, and she is by no means unused to it, but she personally prefers the practicality of a pair of pants to this uncoordinated mess. In the event of a fight, she will need to tear off the skirt. It is something she does not look forward to, but she is prepared for it. Underneath the soft fabric she is wearing a pair of tights.

Holding up the flute to her face, she puts her lips close to a slight bump in the fabric of her left glove.

"Zaveid, do you copy?" she whispers into the hidden microphone. Her comm link, disguised as an elaborate dragon ear decoration, crackles startlingly to life.

"I hear you, Alisha," Zaveid replies. "What's your status?"

"I've located the target," She mutters before taking a sip of her drink. In the corner of the room, surrounded by people and couches arranged in a half circle, is a man named Lunarre. A small time enforcer and part time assassin, his security detail is negligible. Their mission is to get him out safely and with minimal fuss. To do that, they will need to wait for him to leave the room.

"I have a visual and the meeting is going down as predicted. And..."

She almost lets her surprise show on her face as she sees Sorey on the dance floor, twirling Mikleo in his arms. Almost.

"And?" Zaveid asks. Alisha turns her eyes away, fixing them on the nearest couple dancing.

"Mikleo is here," she says quietly.

"Mikleo?" Zaveid curses softly on the other end. "He wasn't on the guest list. What’s he doing here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." She switches the hand holding the drink and adjusts her earring to keep the mic close. "But it can't be good."

There is some muttering on the other end.

"Is Sorey aware of him?" Zaveid asks. Alisha glances at them again. Sorey is sweeping Mikleo grandly away from him and pulling him back, stroking a hand up his back. Mikleo's smile is impish, visible even from this distance.

"He's handling the situation," she says, smiling just a little.

"Good. Let him deal with him." Zaveid sounds amused, but he quickly sobers.

"Are you in a position to handle the target on your own?"

She looks over to where Lunarre sits. They know the plan for tonight. Truly, Sorey is there for backup. Making sure that Lunarre is safely extracted, even should the arrest go poorly. They need to get him out.

"Target is proceeding as planned so far," she says. "Tell Sorey that I can handle it."

"Roger that. I guess we get some extra action tonight. Keep me posted on your status."

"Understood." She does one last adjustment to her hair. A passing waiter graciously accepts her half empty glass, there and gone again in a moment.

"I'm going to get a better vantage. Alisha out."

The comm clicks as she presses lightly on her glove. She clasps her hands in front of her. Her eyes drift over the target, pinpointing the location before she acts. A single smiling glance is all it takes, and a young man in a suit comes to her like a fly drawn to honey.

"May I have this dance, my lady?" His smile is charming, his teeth perfectly white. He will make a good cover.

Alisha smiles and offers him a dainty hand, "It would be an honour, sir."

* * *

"So," Mikleo says casually as they near their third dance, "You're here on a mission."

He says it gleefully, the way you would tease a child playing pretend. His smile is easy and bright, matching perfectly with the sparkling sequins in his mask. It seems he has grown bored of their tiptoeing around each other.

"What gave me away?" Sorey asks dryly. Mikleo leans in close, enough that he can almost see the outlines of irises through the mask. Then he flares out towards the room as quickly and gracefully as a dove taking flight.

"Call it an educated guess," he says, and his smirk is distracting, but not enough to throw Sorey off his step. "Drug traffickers, weapon smugglers, kingpins." At each title, he nods towards a different corner of the room. Sorey does not need to look to know which person matches what. It was all part of a long list of intelligence he received before the mission. One not many people are likely to know of. Mikleo has always had a bad habit of knowing more than he should.

"It's a veritable buffet." Suddenly, he snakes one leg around Sorey's and clings to him. Silently thanking his quick reflexes, Sorey simply bends his knee to lower the two of them and turns them half a step. It is a move that puts Mikleo on perfect display for the crowd.

"Are you going to tell me which delicacy you're here for?" Mikleo mutters against his cheek.

Sorey lifts him back up straight and draws him out into a flourish before spinning him and drawing him close. Mikleo comes to rest with his back against Sorey's chest, perfectly at ease.

"That depends," Sorey says, swaying them lightly. "Are you going to tell me what you're here for?"

They are no longer in step with the other dancers. Mikleo tangles their fingers, and Sorey feels the soft satin of his gloves. He smells faintly of a perfume that skillfully mimics fresh rain.

"Food, drink." Mikleo leans back against him in a very intimate way. "Pretty boys. What else would I need?"

A flick of the wrist brings him back into the proper position, and they fall into step again.

He will get nothing further out of Mikleo. Not now, at least. He will have to keep stalling.

"You know," he says, so detached it almost sounds lazy, "I could bring you in right now."

"You could also take me upstairs," Mikleo replies, equally detached, "but I see you doing neither of those things." He tilts his chin up, challenging. "That tells me you're here to catch bigger fish."

Sorey's mouth thins, but he quickly relaxes it. He ignores the remark, neither confirming nor denying.

"Why Mikleo, we hardly know each other," he replies easily. His eyes drift again. A look to the side puts Alisha in his line of sight. She nods to him, just a slight dip of the head. Her dance partner does not seem to notice.

Just then, his comm clicks in his ear. Zaveid gets right to the point.

"Change of plans, agent. Alisha can take Lunarre. Try to get Mikleo out of there discreetly and we'll send backup outside."

It is just what he was hoping for. Sorey's mouth twitches. His grip on Mikleo's waist tightens just a fraction.

"Keep us posted when you can. Zaveid out." The comm goes silent again. Sorey tilts his chin up, catching Alisha's eyes. He nods back subtly. Her eyes glint with amusement as she and her partner move away from them.

Mikleo sighs dramatically, bringing Sorey's attention back to him.

"Someday you're going to take that bait," he says. Sorey cannot help the slight smile.

"I'd be happy to discuss it in a jail cell."

"Tempting." Mikleo chuckles. "So who is it? Forton?"

Knowing Mikleo, he will keep this up until he is successfully arrested. Sorey wonders idly what he is truly here to do. As much as it would flatter him, there is no chance that Mikleo would dress up like this and attend the most dangerous event to ever serve White Pearl caviar just to dance with people like him. Then again, he truly has no idea whether or not Mikleo knew he would be here. Perhaps he is an interesting detour on the true mission.

Considering the stakes that are likely involved (and to what extent he knows Mikleo), he feels almost touched at the prospect.

Intending to speak, to make light of this thought, Sorey leans in and tries to put his lips close to Mikleo's temple. It is meant to look like a gesture of intimacy that will make people uncomfortable and draw any attention off them. It will also give him some vantage to look for an exit that they can move slowly towards. Mikleo is letting him lead, so it should not be too hard to get them to the edge of the dance floor.

However, as he gets close, Mikleo leans his head away. The white lenses of their masks meet, unreadable, and Sorey decides to let it be lest he gets suspicious. Mikleo still smiles easily. He simply does not let him get close. Sorey backs off, allowing him his space.

"No, you're right," Mikleo says, interpreting his silence. "This party is too big. It's your best shot at catching half the people in here sooner or later. Interpol wouldn't risk that."

Sorey sighs through his nose. "You aren't going to leave it alone, are you?"

"Why would I? I told you my reasons. Why shouldn't I know yours?"

That does amuse him, so much so that his smile widens into a grin. In his periphery, he sees what must be the closest door. He chances it, and tilts them in that direction.

"Food and drink? Unless it's gold plated shrimp, you're not here for it."

Mikleo smiles, a warm smile. Sorey could almost believe it to be genuine if he did not know him.

"What does she have?" Sorey mimics the glee Mikleo had before. "Jewelry? Money?" He gasps, far too fake for Mikleo to hold in his laughter. "Is it a wig you haven't tried yet?"

Mikleo's laugh is a lovely sound. It almost makes the complication of his presence worth it.

"Oh, yes," he says, "You'll love it. It's made out of thread-thin strands of silver."

Alisha dances past them, coming into Sorey's view. She looks at him and just lightly lifts her hand off her partner's shoulder to make two gestures at him in rapid succession. She is going to start moving when the dance ends.

Sorey nods back. Unfortunately, Mikleo notices. He turns them around in a move that Sorey cannot resist without breaking their stride. His head moves just slightly as he looks around.

"I see," he says. "He's not a very big fish, though. Why are you after him?"

Sorey weighs his answer. Telling him the truth of the Lunarre mission would certainly keep his attention for a minute or so more. That could give him the time to get them close enough to the door that he can subdue Mikleo and get him out without causing a scene.

"He's got a price on his head," he says simply. Mikleo looks delighted, like he has been given something new to play with.

"The plot thickens. And yet, with such an important task, you still find the time to dance with little old me."

Sorey looks at him. Even with a mask that covers him from his nose over his cheekbones and to his ears, Mikleo looks gorgeous. The glitter and sequins are clearly less expensive than all the other flashy outfitting at this party, but only upon closer inspection. At a distance, it shines just as well as any jewel in the room. It is a new feature, but it fits him well. The shape of his face is elegantly highlighted by the mask, and Sorey can easily fill in the blanks from memory.

"Always," he answers, softer and more sincere than he means to.

Mikleo looks at him blankly, and Sorey has no chance of telling what this expression means. Close enough to the door, they slow down, until they are merely swaying lightly to keep up the illusion.

For a moment it is just the two of them looking at each other, trying to decipher thoughts and motives through white lenses and still lips. Neither gives an inch. They never do.

Then the music swells. It is coming to an end.

"How flattering," Mikleo says. His smirk returns, tugging at his mouth. The moment passes. “I appreciate it.”

He lets go of Sorey’s shoulder and starts to pull away. Sorey sweeps him up again, holding him close enough that their noses brush.

Mikleo stares. They come to a complete stop, hands clasped and Sorey’s hand splayed on his back. It looks in no way threatening, but Sorey's grip is firm.

"Not so fast," Sorey says gently. "We haven't even finished the dance."

Mikleo does not tense. His gaze wavers from Sorey for a moment, but he stops himself from turning sideways to look at Lunarre.

"You don't have time to finish," he says, confident still. "You have a mission, remember?"

"I do, but it looks like I have room for some multitasking." He leans in and whispers in Mikleo's ear. "You know, you really shouldn't get within arm's reach of an agent. It can end badly."

Mikleo's loose locks of hair tickle his face. They stand like that, locked in an embrace that is as carefully firm as Sorey can make it in front of others. Mikleo raises his free hand, squeezes Sorey's arm affectionately. He brushes his nose against Sorey's jaw.

"It could," he says, his voice low, "but if I'm not wrong, that right there is a member of the Scattered Bones." He turns his head and nuzzles Sorey's cheek. "and she's heading right for your target."

Sorey tenses, just as his comm crackles to life. Zaveid's voice sounds distant and low.

"Sorey, we have a problem. The Scattered Bones are here. Alisha is going to need support."

He reels with the realisation. Troubled, but not honestly surprised, he weighs the options he has. There are questions, but he will have to deal with them later.

There is no way to resolve both missions at once. Not with that significant a threat to their target. Part of him, a large part, wants to get angry. Wants to react, but there is no time. He turns his head.

Alisha is heading out the door after a discreetly retreating Lunarre and a masked woman in a short dress is appearing in is periphery, heading straight for them. He needs to act fast.

He puts his right foot forward. In a smooth motion that only a practiced dancer can do, he tips Mikleo backwards and dips him close to the floor. It is very satisfying to see the surprise wipe the smirk off his face.

Sorey leans close enough that their foreheads almost touch, searching without hope for a glimpse of Mikleo's eyes.

"Don't go anywhere," he says, his tone firm. Mikleo grins, showing off white teeth.

"Oh, officer," his voice is quiet, "You know you can't tell me to do anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

They return to Ladylake by car, arriving in the early hours of morning. Sorey is driving. His tie and suit are torn in several places. The shallow cuts along his skin sting, but they are nothing compared to what he knows Alisha must feel.

They sit in silence, focused on their own thoughts. Sorey keeps his eyes on the road while Alisha taps through mission notes on her tablet. The streetlights shed yellow light over them, swiftly fluttering past like birds. There are no other cars on the road when they drive onto the bridge to the city.

Sorey throws a glance at Alisha. Out of her long dress skirt and with her shoulders covered by Sorey’s jacket, she looks odd with her hair still immaculately pinned up with gems. Her tights are ripped at the thigh, held together by a thick bandage wrapped around the area. Sorey’s grip tightens on the wheel.

"Stop it."

Alisha's voice is soft. Her eyes are still on the screen.

Sorey frowns.

"What?"

"I can hear you blaming yourself from here. It wasn't your fault."

He becomes instantly defensive.

"If I hadn't-"

"Hadn't what? Followed orders? Unpredictability is a staple of our job. How we adapt is what qualifies us."

Sorey shakes his head. "Not good enough. I didn't adapt. I went chasing arrests when we had a mission."

"On Zaveid's orders," Alisha interjects quietly.

"Yeah, but I still did the wrong thing," Sorey says, "We know how Mikleo is. He was bound to have an escape plan."

Alisha looks up at him then. Her eyes are stern.

"None of us could have predicted that he'd have that kind of connection. Sorey, it was the Scattered Bones."

The way she says it is enough, as if speaking of a spectre lurking in the night. Sorey feels his pulse quicken with anger.

"How could we possibly have known?" Alisha demands. Sorey sighs.

"We couldn't," he admits. It pains him to do so.

He slows down as they reach the city gates. The arch opens above them, and they soon blend into the dark streets. The city is awake, as it will be until morning. Nightclubs and bars are open until the late hours of the morning, most of them located in the upper district. They pass the desolate water wheel in the town square and turn onto an unnamed street.

It is almost too narrow for even one car to pass uninhibited, but Sorey knows it well. It leads downwards from the main street to a platform just above the level of the lake beneath the city streets. The only people who ever pass through here are maintenance workers and cars like Sorey's, and only in the hours where no one is awake to notice them. The area is off limits to the public.

A grey brick wall meets them at the end of the platform. Alisha taps on her tablet, and the wall rattles as it slides loose from its place. It takes only a moment for it to grow wide enough for Sorey to drive through. It then closes behind them again just as quickly, leaving only dust and unsettled rodents in their wake.

Sorey watches the lights in the ceiling pass by them. The drive is a straight line, and he knows for how long. They sit in silence until the opening to the garage appears.

Sorey pulls them into an available parking space and puts the carin park. The silence that replaces the rumble of the engine presses on his ears.

He takes in his ruined sleeves while Alisha tugs self consciously at the bandage covering her thigh.

Sorey draws in a breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth.

"You ready to do this?"

Alisha sighs. She adjusts a lock of her hair, as though that will help how messy it is. She has lost a few strands to a knife that cut it a little too close tonight. She will need a haircut to even it out, but it is far better than the alternative.

"Let the humiliation begin."

* * *

In all fairness, Sergei expresses no disappointment in their conduct. He is too kind for that. He simply goes over the events of the mission with them, comparing their reports and asking what questions he deems necessary. Alisha recounts the events stoically while Sorey has more trouble keeping the slight tremor out of his voice. He is frustrated and angry, but fear still curls tightly in him. Alisha had walked in with a slight limp - one he is sure would be worse if she had allowed herself the freedom to show that weakness.

It is difficult to recount the incident with Mikleo. Sorey tells of it with minimal inflection of tone or emotion, but the shame still coils in his gut. This is not the first time he has had to explain a mission going wrong like this, nor is it the first time it all has its origin in Mikleo's presence. It feels repetitive, which only makes it worse.

Sergei takes in their information, jotting down notes where he needs to in the margins of their reports. His elbows rest on the table, his fingers laced before his face. He looks pensive.

"And the target?" he asks.

"Secure," Alisha answers confidently. "We took him into custody with maximal damage control."

Not truly, Sorey thinks as he glances at Alisha's bandaged leg. They are all sitting down, and she had settled on her chair with visible relief. Sorey's eyebrows draw together in a frown. He knows that Alisha is purposefully not looking at him.

"Good." Sergei gathers his notes and files and sorts them into a neat pile on the desk. "Anything else of note?"

Sorey answers him, "The assassin got away without being identified."

She was able to take off several strips of Alisha's dress and rip into Sorey's suit and tie before they even managed to touch the beaked mask on her face. A small nudge was all that Alisha had managed, but it had spooked her enough to drive her away.

"That trail is already cold, I'm sure." Sergei nods. "Good work agents."

"Sir," Sorey says before he really has a chance to think about it. "I promise we will work harder to catch him next time."

Sergei and Alisha both stare at him. He immediately wants to take back his words.

Sergei tilts his head. "Yes, I know so. I trust fully in you doing your utmost in each mission, Sorey. Never doubt that."

Sorey falters for a moment.

"Thank you, sir."

Sergei nods, dismissing them. Sorey stands up before Alisha does and offers her a hand. She accepts it without comment. Together they exit the briefing room and make their way down the hallway.

Alisha leans her weight on Sorey, letting him help more than he expected to. He is grateful for it, although he suspects that it is with the goal of easing his guilt. Her face is serene, unreadable.

Sorey drifts quickly into his own thoughts. The events of the night play and replay, and he wonders what he could have done differently. What aspects of those events could he control, and what should he have done? His eyebrows draw into a frown as he thinks.

They reach the door to Alisha's office. She stops him from opening it with a tug on his arm.

"What is it?" he asks. She looks him in the eyes.

"I want you to remember to be careful," she says. Her tone tells him that she means more than just one kind.

"Don't worry," Sorey says. He puts a hand over hers on his arm. "I won't go after him on my own. I know we're a team."

"Sorey, you know what I mean." Alisha sighs. "He's unpredictable and therefore dangerous. You can't keep chasing after him like some shiny thing."

Sorey huffs. "I'm not."

Alisha shakes her head.

"I know how important this arrest is to you, but I need you to remember that it might have to be someone else's. If you split your focus, you'll just halve your successes."

Sorey considers that. It makes an irritating amount of sense. He sighs.

"He's..." He mulls over what feeling he means to convey. "...provoking."

He deflates a bit as he says it. Hearing it out loud shows him just what it means.

Alisha says it out loud, "That's exactly what he wants."

Sorey squeezes her hand. He averts his eyes.

"Maybe you're right," he says.

"I usually am," she replies, smiling. Sorey reaches once more for the door.

"I'll do my best not to let him distract me," he says, then smiles. "But I did say I'd catch him, and I will."

Alisha nods sagely. "We will."

* * *

Back in Pendrago, in a small apartment complex nestled in an unfrequented corner of the city, Mikleo walks through the door to his current safehouse.

It is a plain apartment at the end of a plainer hallway. Darkness coats most of it in obscurity. Mikleo takes a moment to look around before he flips the light switch, listening closely for any unwelcome presence.

He flicks the switch absentmindedly and steps over the threshold. A dim bulb without a lampshade bathes the small space in yellow light.

The apartment is small, cheap, and inconspicuous. There is dirt and ruined wallpaper on the walls. He leaves his shoes on and steps into a living room, sparing only a glance for the kitchen that is no more than a corner. A ratty sofa stands in the middle, flanked by a coffee table that has also seen better days. He dumps his pack on the floor next to it and heads directly for the bathroom.

Here the light fixture takes several tries to rouse before it flickers to life, pinning him in a spotlight of bright white. It makes him wince as he removes the mask. He comes face to face with himself in the mirror.

He looks out of place in his fancy clothing, but the streaks of dirt and the perfect mess his hair has become fits in well with the dust and cracked tiles. He reaches up and pulls at a singed lock. It comes loose in his hand, though thankfully it is only an extension.

"Edna," Mikleo says quietly as he puts down the mask and begins to work on removing the other loose hair and pins. There had been no need for makeup tonight, which he is grateful for. His hairstyle took hours to have done, and cost him more money than the stay in this place did. It will take a long time to pull apart the clumps of hairspray, pick out the millions of pins, and wash out the remaining extensions, especially if he wants to keep all of his real hair.

The comm in his ear clicks. "Looks like you made it out okay."

"Just barely." He pulls out another pin, and a few singed locks fall loosely over his eyes. "Her alarm system involves lasers. How has nothing in her house caught fire yet?"

"She has good sprinklers," Edna replies. There’s a tapping sound in the background of her audio feed that he recognises as that of fingers on a keyboard. He can picture her shrugging, her attention only half on him. "It's never been a problem before."

"And of course you know that," he mutters, more to himself than her. There is a moment of silence, then:

"Did you get it?"

There is no discernible tone, nothing to indicate an emotional response, but he knows that is what she does when she gets worried. It is a very subtle shift in her manner, plausibly deniable should she be questioned on it.

"I got it," he says, "All good."

"Good." More tapping. The very final sound of her pressing an 'Enter' button. "I've got the next city now. I'll send you the details."

"Thanks, Edna."

"S'what I'm here for, Meebo. So how did it go with your cop boy?"

His hands still momentarily. He closes his eyes. He was dreading this part of the conversation.

"Nothing, Edna. I kept him distracted for a few minutes. Then we parted ways."

"A good fifteen minutes by my count," she says. "Meebo, your mic was on. Sounded an awful lot like something's up."

"What, you've never heard me flirt?" He cards his fingers through his hair. No more pins. Time to get rid of all the extensions then. "I thought you had seen me work before."

"Flirt, yes." She sounds amused. "Trip over yourself, no."

"I did not-"

"Oh, take me upstairs, you big strong cop man," she mocks. Her voice is pitched so that she sounds more like a woman in a love drama than Mikleo himself. It still gets the point across.

He gazes at himself in the mirror, indignant.

"Okay, one: stop that. You sound terrifying. Two: it's not like you've never seen me lay it on like that before."

"I know how you sound when you lie, Meebo. That wasn't it."

He rolls his eyes. She cannot see him anyway.

"I'm beginning to think you've been spending too much time with Rose."

Edna huffs. "I'll be sure to pass along that touching sentiment."

Mikleo shakes his head. Despite himself, his mouth draws into a fond smile.

"But I guess I'll leave that alone for now," Edna drawls, the very sound of boredom. "You have the briefing for your next mission in your email. Be sure to check it before you leave tomorrow."

"Will do."

He hesitates for a long moment. "And Edna?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for having my back out there."

Silence. After a long moment of it, the tapping resumes.

"No problem, Meebs." He sighs at the nickname. "Now get some sleep. Signing out."

He has no time to answer her before the comm crackles and goes silent. He shakes his head lightly and inspects himself in the mirror. It will take some time to get out of all of this finery. He decides to leave the briefing until tomorrow, confident that he can check on the important details while in a cab to the airport.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sorey comes in the next morning to find that Zaveid has taken over his office and settled comfortably at his desk. There are papers all over it, and from where he stands by the door Sorey can already see the letterhead of the Pendrago Police Department. Zaveid must have been here since this morning, going over the reports.

"Finding anything?"

Instead of arguing over his good chair, Sorey simply settles in the less comfortable one lined up against the wall. He has breakfast to finish before he joins in on any proper sleuthing. Today it is a bagel from the place up the street and a cup of coffee.

Zaveid leafs through a small stack on the desk.

"Hold your horses, Champ. I'm just going over the crime scene." He looks up to flash Sorey a grin. "Nothing exciting yet."

Sorey only waves dismissively as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"So? What'd they find?"

He is sitting close enough that Zaveid can just slide the stack across the desk and offer it to him. He takes it and skims.

"Something was stolen, alright," Zaveid says. "Or destroyed. We don't know what yet. The uniforms have no leads besides a mess of an office with no fingerprints or DNA, and if she knows anything, Forton isn't talking."

"Meaning it's something she can't allow us to get wind of," Sorey finishes. He flips to the next page. There is an economic account of the crime scene accompanied by a few pictures, but that seems to be it. Nothing stands out to him, except perhaps the mess itself.

"This isn't like Mikleo at all," he says.

"Yep. Whoever got in there made a disaster of the place. I'm guessing a personal grudge, or they didn't know where to look. All very unlike our friend in purple."

Sorey flips through the pictures. There is a desk with its drawers ripped out, papers scattered everywhere. The next is a wide french window with torn curtains, overlooking the garden outside. The third is a shot of the corner of the room, a curtained painting hung askew and a luxurious white sofa with a long red streak splattered over it. Sorey squints.

"Is that wine?" Zaveid said there was no DNA, so it is not blood.

"Yep," Zaveid says lightly. "Forton's favourite, from the cabinet in the office. Hence, I'm guessing a grudge."

Sorey is inclined to agree with that assessment. Judging by the pattern of it, there is no way it was accidentally spilled. The red streak is thin and stark, stretching from the left cushion all the way to the other side by the top of the armrest. It was likely poured slowly and deliberately.

"That's going to be expensive to get out," he says, impressed. Zaveid chuckles.

"I'd say. It's a limited edition Treston Artis."

Sorey whistles a low tone. It is practically expensive just to speak that designer’s name. He puts the papers back on the desk.

"But nothing linking Mikleo, then?" he asks. Zaveid nods.

"Not a thing, so we have nothing to go on. This is below our pay grade unless we find a connection, and I'm not seeing one."

"What about searching the rest of the mansion?"

Zaveid huffs. "Not if the Lady Forton has anything to say about it."

He is right. There is no way they could convince her of that, even with the force of Interpol. She is too influential and too slippery. The only connection they have is that Mikleo happened to be at the ball, and that is just as good as nothing. Sorey sighs. It is typical of Mikleo.

"Fair enough," he says, and resolves to put it out of his mind. "Do we have an update on Lunarre?"

"He's a lot more talkative now that his options are getting narrow." Zaveid steals his coffee, and Sorey lets him because it is still early and he likely needs it. Sorey raises an eyebrow.

"You mean we can pin something on him now?"

Zaveid shakes his head. "No. His contract is apparently more than he's willing to deal with. Someone's sending some very skilled people after him."

Sorey frowns. "That makes no sense. He's a freelancer. What use would his death be?"

"Not just his."

Zaveid hands him another stapled pack of papers. This one is a little thicker than the report. It is a record of Lunarre's criminal history attached to a transcript of his interrogation. He flips to the latter and skims.

"He's seen some action in the last few weeks, our good friend." Zaveid points to a highlighted part in the middle of the page. "Two deaths that he was aware of, one on the same mission he was. Cain Nell and Eliza Smith."

"A dealer and an assassin." Sorey makes the connection quickly. They are both familiar. "Both active in Hyland."

"Ladylake, for the most part," Zaveid adds. Sorey looks at him.

"Someone's moving in on the territory?"

"It's likely. And if true, we need to keep an eye out for them."

Zaveid looks almost delighted at the idea. He hides it behind a thin facade of cool professionalism. Sorey buys none of it.

"So we've got a new player, and a dangerous one." He stands up and begins to gather papers in his arms. Zaveid takes the opportunity to steal the last of the bagel, and Sorey finds it in his heart not to stop him this time.

"Then we report this to Sergei," he says. Zaveid nods. 

Sergei is not happy with the news that someone is targeting the Ladylake criminal element, as it means an unpredictable new facet of it to consider. Alisha and Zaveid are a little more encouraged, and Sorey feels it as it becomes infectious. Besides the ball, it may be the first real action they have had in months.

They also discuss the string of thefts which has plagued the nobility of Glenwood for some time. It is not so much a case as a smattering of clues which point Mikleo's way. It is the reason Sorey was intent on finding a connection to Mikleo at the party, as they have been unable to make a real case of it for about a year now. Still, they have to resign themselves to leaving Forton's ball largely out of it, noting only that he was there and what happened. It is a quaint collection of dead ends and half-leads that have annoyed Sorey for months, and it continues now to be so.

By the end of the day, they have checked a number of local reports and tapped sources. Sorey returns home to his apartment building with little more to go on than he had this morning. He resigns himself to letting it go for the moment.

The apartment building is small, nestled in the corner of the merchant's district. He checks his mailbox and takes the elevator to the third floor. Instead of heading straight for his own door, he stops at the second one to the left.

He can hear the sound of a baby crying inside. Cringing in sympathy, he rings the doorbell and waits patiently until someone can tear themselves free enough to come answer it.

The door swings open to reveal a woman in comfortable clothes. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail, her face composed in a gentle smile. Sorey smiles back.

"Hey, Natalie," he says warmly.

"Hey yourself," she replies, glancing back into the apartment at the sound of the child crying somewhere within it.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in a package deal?" she says and grins. Sorey chuckles.

"Sorry, but I've got a lot to go through. Maybe tomorrow night."

He perks up at the sound of scrabbling claws on Natalie's floor. Around the corner behind her a shape appears, brown eyes locked on Sorey like a laser focus.

Sorey kneels as she comes bounding up to him, her tail wagging furiously. He sweeps her into his arms, though he is unable to pick her up. She is a grown Boxer and it would take too much out of him now, but he lets her stand on her hind legs and lick his face. Natalie watches them in amusement.

"Hi, Aqua, sweetie," he says lightly to the dog. "Did you miss me?"

Natalie answers for her. "Enough that I couldn't get either her or Nathan to calm down for a good hour after you left this morning. I'm not sure which one of us has the needier one."

Sorey laughs. Aqua nudges his chin with her nose.

"Who's my princess," he coos, scratching behind her ears.

She follows him obediently to his own apartment while Natalie retreats back inside to check on her son. Compared to the warmth of Natalie's well-lit messy hall, his own seems a little bit empty.

He makes dinner by puzzling together some leftovers Natalie kindly offered him the other day and settles in the living room sofa with Aqua at his feet. They watch tv together for some time, just enjoying the simplicity of it, before Sorey's mind begins to wander back to his active cases. It is only a few steps from there for it to wander back to the subject of Mikleo.

They do not know much about Mikleo. Less than they should by now, as he has been active for a number of years. Sorey would deduce, if pressed, that they are around the same age, as Mikleo became active not long before Sorey started his job as a detective in the Ladylake PD. This is something he found out when he was first introduced to the case at Interpol.

Mikleo is a thief. This much they know, as something is always missing at the places he visits. The question this raises is what he does with the items he steals, as few of them have ever shown up again on the market. Chances are that he collects the items himself, or perhaps he has too deep connections for the department to be able to trace the items, but they rarely seem to resurface in any of the known places. Sorey often wonders what his methods are.

There are few people who could have gotten past the kind of security that Runette Forton keeps in her quarters. That ballroom was filled with two kinds of people: the kind that delegates, and the kind that dirties their hands but does not have the skill. That to Sorey puts Mikleo firmly on the crime scene, but for what reason? Why and how would someone else find their way in?

If it was not Mikleo, he thinks, then it must have been someone not at the party. That would require an impressive amount of sidestepping as well. If it was their new player, they are already two steps behind.

Granted, this new player might not be anyone in particular but the growing pains of several new criminals trying to establish themselves in the city. His gut feeling tells him that the murders are connected, but he should not rely on instincts alone. Keeping an eye out, as he agreed with Zaveid and Sergei, is their best bet in the early stages of whatever is happening. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. He startles at it, and Aqua startles with him. It takes a bit of shuffling, but he can reach it from the sofa without unsettling her too much.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

Sorey smiles.

"Mom, hi." He settles back onto the sofa, reaching for the remote to lower the volume. He leaves it on for Aqua to watch alone.

Selene calls him at least once a week, has done so since he began at the department and she moved to Lastonbell, which is too far for him to casually visit. She worries, especially since she knows what he actually does for a living.

Case in point, "Any new cases?" she asks.

He shakes his head, smiling fondly.

"You know I can't tell you."

He can hear her smiling on the other end. "I know, honey. You know I have to try."

"I know, mom."

They talk for some time, as they usually do. Selene asks him about his free time, and he answers that he spends time with Alisha. She comments that perhaps he should do things that do not have to do with work, and he weathers her critique with lots of charm.

"I'm going to the park with Natalie and Mason on saturday," he offers. Her sigh is quiet and fond.

"All I ask, I suppose." She hesitates for a long moment. Sorey waits.

"I'm proud of you, Sorey" she says, and he smiles. "You’re being careful, right?"

"I always am."

They talk until Aqua falls asleep at his feet, and Sorey begins to feel heavy himself. When they hang up, he looks around the dark room, accented only by the white light of the television.

He sweeps himself up, taking a drowsy Aqua with him, and goes to prepare for bed.


	4. Chapter 4

It is dark enough outside that Mikleo feels perfectly safe perching on a rooftop closer to his mark than he would normally do. It is also raining hard, which makes it far less comfortable than it could be. 

"Edna," he says, loudly, because the rain covers up the sound. "Get me an ETA."

"What, not having fun?" Judging by her tone, she is having far too much. 

"The time of my life," he mutters, drawing a thick coat tighter around himself. 

"They're on the move. ETA in two minutes."

A packed duffle bag sits at his feet. He sweeps it under the coat to protect it from the moisture. 

The warehouse looks empty, but he knows better. His information is more waterproof than his coat is, and the rotating guards disguised as dock workers are unmissable. Over the rim of the building he can see the lake, wide and dark. 

This is the more boring part of his job. He taps his gloved fingers on his thigh and tries to shake the song stuck in his head. It is some electronic lyricless thing Edna played over his comm for the whole trip here. 

"The things I do for that woman," he says. 

"Don't we all," Edna replies. "We have coffee back at the safehouse if it helps anything."

"Joy," he mutters, but it does encourage him. He watches the guards switch positions around the front door of the building. They all lean casually about, as though awaiting a night shift. They all wear thick boots and sweaters under heavy coats. The same kind of coat Mikleo huddles under. They fill them out better than he does his. 

"Thirty seconds," Edna says. Mikleo stands up slowly and stretches his arms. 

"Showtime," he replies, and picks up the bag. Two steps and a graceful leap, and he weaves into the alleys around the warehouse.

* * *

 

Alisha steps outside her apartment building and into the sunbathed noble's district. She smiles as she lays eyes on Sorey. 

He puts all of his charm into his smile. She shakes her head fondly. 

"Don't you have anything to do on weekends?"

"What are you talking about?" He sweeps up her arm, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. "I'm having lunch with you, no?"

They walk together in the direction of the town square. They already have a restaurant in mind, and one they both know well. Over the last few month, it has become a fast tradition between them. 

"Please tell me I'm not the most fun friend you have," she says. Sorey chuckles. 

"I plead the fifth," he says. 

They get their usual table in the corner, huddled close so that the murmur of the others in the room covers up their voices. There they settle into a comfortable conversation. 

"So," Alisha says, "end of the line, huh?"

She is referring to the Forton ball case, which has been meticulously prepared and researched for months. That ball was one of Sorey's more dangerous missions, and he still feels the sting of failing it to some extent. They were lucky to escape with only milder injuries. 

Sadly, milder injuries mean something different to them than it does to others. Alisha is favouring the leg the assassin nicked, and Sorey feels more guilty the more he sees it. Then she steers him back into focusing on the positives (and the fact that their job comes with these risks) with a gentle smile and firm words. She is a good friend. 

"I'm just glad we got out," Sorey replies aroud a mouthful of pasta. "Considering I tried to reel in more than we had the net for." 

"You did your best. That's all we can really do." 

Sorey nods and hopes that it will sink in properly soon. One thing he will not argue is Alisha's ability to take care of herself. She is a better fighter than he is. 

"So what do you think of this new player?" he asks to change the subject and take his mind off the guilt. They discussed it a lot the other day, but the only real conclusion they came do was that there are signs. Clues which when twisted and turned every which way they could, could mean anything in reality. 

"Inconclusive," Alisha says, but the glint in her eyes betrays her. At Sorey's look, she adds, "It would certainly be a change of pace from all this holing up in the office we've been doing."

"Tell me about it. I'm glad to be out and about again."

She smirks. "Even if it's the same dimly lit restaurant we always go to."

Sorey shrugs one shoulder, smile still in place. 

"It's good food. And speaking of, anything else on your plate right now?"

He regularly partners with Zaveid, as he did up until the masquerade mission. Alisha tends to get paired up with someone from another department Sorey does not know, a woman whose codename is Gem. His and Alisha's teamwork at the ball was both smooth and entertaining, and despite the results he hopes for the chance to do it more often. 

Alisha shakes her head. 

"Not much. Gem has a lead on some black market shopping that we're going to look into in a few days. Before that, I'm mostly logging reports for Sergei."

Sorey raises his eyebrows. "He wants more reports?"

"That party was filled with more  _ mischief  _ than a children's cartoon," she says. "He wants to know the names of everyone we saw."

"You mean the guest list?" Sorey asks, though he knows what the answer will be. 

"We can't guarantee everyone was there, or even that everyone was on it." The way she tilts her head is a little too revealing. "I mean, you found an old friend, no?"

He does not meet her eyes at first. When he does, it is to dispel the amusement on her face. 

"How excited are you about that sighting, on a scale from one to when you first got Aqua?" she asks. 

At first he holds on to his professional exterior. 

"I'd say a solid 'new coffee machine in the break room'." He tries not to grin and fails as she smacks him. 

"Oh, come off it. We're all excited. We haven't caught up with him like this for years."

Sorey lets the grin slip. "I know." Even though it was a coincidence (or perhaps a planned effort by Mikleo to toy with them), it is encouraging to have gotten so close to bringing him in. After working in silence around that corkboard of heists for years, they finally know for sure that he has something to do with the more recent string of familiar-looking heists. 

"So what's the plan?" she asks conspiratorially. Mikleo is his and Zaveid's case and has been for some time, though others have taken a lot of precedence as Mikleo keeps under the radar a lot. 

"Holding our horses, for one." He holds up a hand, though her enthusiasm is infectious. "Stepping into our line of sight was a deliberate move, and we don't know what he gained from it. For all we know, he's setting a trap."

"True," she says, "but then again he'd never be able to sneak around that party without you noticing him. Better to find out what you were doing there and figure out his own plan from there."

"An excellent point." This is the part of work he has always loved. "We need more information, and something tells me he isn't done with his mission, whatever it is."

"So we wait and see where next he surfaces." Alisha nods, satisfied. "I approve."

Sorey nods and digs into his pasta. Deliberate or not, visibly unperturbed or not, Mikleo approached him at the party, and tensed in his arms when he tried to turn it around on Mikleo himself. That was not a complete plan from the start, and that means Sorey was onto something with his quick thinking. He has a good feeling about it, but he does not share that particular aspect of it with Alisha. It would be as good as the lack of evidence they have, and Alisha often warns him not to get too confident, infectious mood or no. She has always been more sensible that way. 

"And speaking of Lavender and his antics," she says then, and Sorey feels his ears begin to heat up. He did not know the comms were on at that particular moment of the party. That this is the way she lets him know is a testament to Alisha's desire to tease him about it. "Are you dating anyone right now?"

He blinks, once, twice, as he processes the question. Between Aqua, Mikleo, and work, the thought had not even occurred to him. He does not say this out loud, as it sounds sad even in his head. 

"Something tells me you're asking for a reason," he says suspiciously instead. Alisha's smile is a little too wide, her eyes a little too bright. 

"Because Gem has this friend, and she’d kill me if I didn’t ask."

Sorey mentally braces himself for a long afternoon.

* * *

 

Despite their high hopes, there is no sign of Mikleo for some time after that. Two months after the ball, following a few weeks of nothing but paperwork and sifting through signs of their newcomer so small they may as well be petty theft, Sorey is immensely grateful when they are all called to a briefing over an actual case. 

Sergei gathers them around a board filled with projected images of security camera footage of one of the corners of Ladylake's Old Town docks. Blurred shapes tell of scattered fishermen around a building just by the aqueduct entrance. At first glance they appear to be lounging, awaiting their next shift, but Sergei's team is not made up of untrained eyes. They are a little too strategically placed, none of them clustering or talking to each other. 

"A security detail," Zaveid observes. 

"Indeed," Alisha agrees. "Do we know what for?"

"Not what, but who." 

Sergei switches to the next set of images, a few shots of the warehouse exterior up close. A door on the side of it is half open, revealing the distinct image of a face. He is a man in his thirties, tall and broad with his back straight. Unlike the guards scattered around him, he wears the finery of a man secure in his power and position. 

Sorey's stares at the image, taking in every detail. He watches as Sergei switches to another angle, revealing more of the man's face. 

"Hecaton Lefay," Sergei informs them. "An arms dealer and smuggler, and a prominent figure in the Pendrago black market. He was sighted in Ladylake within the last week, and our sources believe he is staying temporarily."

"I assume for a vacation and shopping trip," Zaveid says lightly. 

"You're half right," Sergei says. "He's sent out feelers for his stock, but that's not the reason he's here. He wouldn't need to come in person to smuggle."

Sorey sits a little straighter. "You think he's our newcomer?"

"Perhaps, but the temporary stay speaks against it. We'll have to keep an eye on him, though. For this visit, however, we have a likely motive."

Sergei switches to the next image. This one is a colourful, professionally edited picture of a set of jewelry mounted on display. Sorey realises that he has switched over to a website advertising a collection at the Hyland Royal Museum. 

The jewelry is a set of earrings and a necklace, large and eye-catching with gold filigree. Three large emeralds sit in the centre of the necklace, with smaller matching ones mounted in the earrings. He does not recognise it, but judging from the low whistle behind him, Zaveid does. 

"The Lefay emeralds," he says. "Makes sense."

Sergei nods. Sorey skims the tourist information on the page. 

"They're on display now?" he asks. 

"Will be," Segei says. "The exhibit opens in two weeks. We have until then to plan a security detail that will keep his men away from it."

Sorey frowns. "How many should we expect?"

"For his family jewels?" Zaveid smiles. "I'd expect an army."

"Or an elite team," Sergei says. "The emeralds have been the property of the royal family since the nineteenth century. By now, the Lefays will want them back."

Alisha nods. "Then we get to planning now. Who's in charge of the mission?"

"Zaveid." Sergei nods in his direction. "You answer to him, and he calls the shots on site."

"Roger."

They rally seamlessly around him, and Sergei provides them with maps and blueprints of the museum and its defenses. Sorey settles into it easily, and it feels like getting to stretch his legs. He enjoys it. 

Zaveid takes charge easily, which makes this his fifth time leading a mission. If things go well, he surely has a promotion coming up sometime soon. Sorey wonders who he will be paired with then. 

That night when he returns home, he has a new spring in his step. Weeks on end of paperwork has bogged him down, and now he finally gets to see some action. Aqua evidently finds it contagious, as she just about bowls him over in her enthusiasm when he comes to pick her up. It makes Natalie laugh, and Nathan babble happily in her arms. 


	5. Chapter 5

Zaveid creates a thorough and careful plan for the mission. Besides the regular security, agents have beens stationed at all the entrances and exits, with a small team guarding and overseeing the security camera hub. They do not have the resources to station someone in every room of the museum, as it is too large to do so without calling back people on missions overseas. As such, they rely on the strengths of their most capable agents. 

They have been divided and sorted into teams, one meant for each section of the museum. Sergei and another team man the lobby, Zaveid and Lailah (an agent who is not part of their division but who has been deemed necessary) man the west wing, and Sorey and Alisha take the east. Sorey has with him a set of three Interpol officers and two security guards who flank him, patrolling the hallways adjacent to his. 

He paces up and down an empty corridor. It is the third night they have been at this, and the exhibit will continue for another five. He is only grateful that it is so short lived, an exclusive affair meant to draw only the wealthiest of tourists. 

Still, even disregarding the borrowed section of the royal vault, the museum is packed with expensive jewelry and decor. Sorey skirts around it the way a child would a grandmother's expensive vase: slowly and with much reserved reverence. The lights are all off, leaving the small windows that sit in only some of the rooms to illuminate his path. His eyes have long adjusted, however, and so he avoids knocking into anything. 

Despite (or perhaps because of) the silence, he can feel his shoulders tensing with every step. His flashlight is off, secured to his belt to keep up his stealth. His fingers twitch towards it at every sound and flickering shadow. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to slow down, turning and walking into one of the display rooms. Several glass cases line the walls, their contents obscured in the darkness. 

Sorey taps the button on his watch. His comm clicks. 

"Everything clear?" he asks. 

Alisha answers first. "All clear here." The others agree in sequence. 

"Here too," Lailah says. Sorey draws in a deep breath through his nose. 

Something is wrong. He can feel it. He looks slowly around the room. 

Hecaton Lefay is too high ranking a crime boss to be caught unawares by something as mundane as a dock security camera. That opens up two possibilities, one being that his visit to the building in question became dangerous and forced him to back out of it without taking the proper precautions,. The other is that he means for his presence to be known in Ladylake. His visit in conjunction with the exhibit is suspicious as well. Still, barring a visit to the actual royal vault, there are few other places he would be interested to rob here. Perhaps, then, if he is not the newcomer, then perhaps they have requested his presence. He and his brother are the most famous smugglers in both Hyland and Rolance, to the point where Sorey was unsurprised to see them at Forton's ball. 

He stops in his tracks. If they can draw a connection there, that means that Forton's ball may have been the place this deal was made in the first place. Though it would limit their list of suspects, it would also limit their chance to follow through on it to almost nothing. A verbal contract is much harder to track. 

His thoughts are interrupted in the middle of this revelation by a crackling sound in his ear.

"Alert, all units," he hears. It is one of the agents stationed in the control hub for the cameras. "We've got interference. Everyone be on your guard."

"Understood," Zaveid says. "All units stay alert."

Sorey waits for a few anxious moments. His feeling of unease only mounts. He listens closely both for further communication and suspicious sounds. The former comes first. 

"Requesting backup," Alisha says urgently. "I've got a runner."

He puts his watch to his mouth. 

"Beta team, converge on Alisha’s position. Follow her orders."

It is his own team he sends. They come online to answer him in the positive. Then he hears Lailah's voice. 

"I've got one too. Gamma team, converge on me."

Sorey starts running. The museum is large, with wide and long hallways, some with large ornate windows. They will need to coordinate well to defend it, as any confusion could cause to much of a delay. 

The display on his watch tells him where in the museum he can find Alisha. He notes the direction she moves in and moves to intercept, hoping to cut off their perpetrator's path. His comm crackles. 

"Another runner in my section," Zaveid says. "Team, intercept in the entrance hall. Sorey, return to your position. This seems symmetrical."

"Roger." He turns and runs back, but he does not call on his team. With both teams at her back, Alisha has a higher chance to catch her suspect quickly. If he can keep a potential one at bay, they can bring them both in. 

He opens the watch display again and takes note of the locations his colleagues have pinged, the initial sight locations. They match up to the point where he can pinpoint a room in his section. He heads in that direction. 

However, he does not make it the whole way there. As he skids to round a corner into another long hallway, a shadow ducks just out of sight. A distinctly human-shaped one. He follows it into the next room. 

The first thing he sees inside is a large glass case with a mannequin in it, clad in elaborate royal robes. Others line the walls, their faces turned to the centre of the room. They look like watching sentinels, ominously shaded in the darkness. 

He reaches for his gun and flashlight. With his flashlight hand supporting the other arm by the wrist, he slowly scans the room. 

The mannequins in the cases cast long shadows as he shines the light on them. It almost makes him miss the shape of someone else in the room, huddled up against the far edge of the right set of cases. He approaches slowly and moves the flashlight so as to not alert them to the fact he sees them. 

Close enough to properly cage them in between himself and the wall, he shines the light on them. 

"Don't move," he says firmly. 

The shape turns slowly, half obscured by the shape of a mannequin in green robes. Sorey draws in a sharp breath. 

"Officer."

Mikleo smiles sharply. Like the moment Sorey's hand settled around his waist at the ball, the moment he pointed out an assassin to him. 

Sorey has long since learned to quickly wrap his head around the surprise. He keeps the gun firmly aimed. 

"Didn't expect to see you here," he says. Mikleo raises his hands and steps out from behind the case. He shrugs. 

"Heard there was going to be a party."

They have no time to say more than that. Mikleo is quick, and Sorey's eyes have yet to adjust to the contrast of the flashlight. As Mikleo ducks out of it, he becomes very briefly obscured, and that is all he needs to knock the gun out of Sorey's hand. 

Sorey is ready. He tosses the flashlight and catches the next blow, turning it and sending Mikleo staggering. Then the fight begins. 

Sorey has seen Mikleo fight only two times before. One was when the FBI got the drop on him in one of his earlier appearances on Interpol's radar. He then put two agents on the floor before jumping out the window of a hotel's sixteenth floor and disappearing. The other was when he made his way past two guards outside a collectors personal vault in Loghrin. That was an even shorter and more precise affair. If Sorey is to hold his own, he will have to be on his guard.

He sticks to it well enough at first. Mikleo punches, and Sorey blocks easily. It is followed by a kick and another punch at his shoulder, and the speedy sequence forces him to take a step back. He takes advantage of Mikleo's confidence and rears back, putting his weight into his attack. His fist connects with Mikleo's jaw, and Mikleo staggers backwards with a grunt of pain. 

"Rude," he says, and then lunges again. 

This attack is more forceful. Mikleo comes at him quickly and pushes him backwards almost into one of the cases behind him. He dodges a third punch, but not quickly enough to realise that it is a feint. Mikleo grabs him by the shoulder and draws him in, aiming a knee at his gut. 

Sorey grabs it and sweeps the other leg, sending Mikleo rolling away from him. It puts some distance between them that Mikleo uses to feint around him and head for the door. 

Sorey takes a fraction of a second to weigh the decision of wasting time on retrieving the gun. He deems it too risky and follows. 

If there is one thing certain about Mikleo, it is that he is quick. They weave through hallways and skid around corners, and Sorey almost trips as Mikleo drags a suit of ancient armour to the floor to block his path. 

Alisha's voice sounds in his ear. 

"Sorey, what's your status?"

He huffs incredulously. 

"You won't believe this. Prioritise your perps and then converge on me."

"Understood."

Their path takes them into the museum's great hall. It is an open space with many displays and a high ceiling lined with large windows. The moonlight illuminates it well, and he can easily see Mikleo weaving around a jewelry case to reach the opposite exit. Sorey speeds up and vaults a bench that is mounted on the floor. It allows him to make up for Mikleo's head start. 

Surprised by this, Mikleo moves too slowly, and Sorey has the chance to grab him by the shoulder. Reacting quickly, Mikleo breaks the hold but it allows Sorey a moment to strike. Mikleo blocks the first jab, but a well placed knee to the gut makes him double over, allowing Sorey to push him forcefully up against the nearest wall.

They hit it with a loud thud and Mikleo wheezes with the impact. He coughs roughly to regain his breath. Sorey takes the opportunity to pin his wrists to the wall.

The frenetic scuffle of the chase falls to silence then, broken only by their hard breathing. Mikleo's eyes meet Sorey's. He looks frazzled and worn. Despite this, his face draws into a smile, and Sorey can see blood on his lip. His dark hair falls in his eyes, and without sufficient lighting Sorey cannot tell either of their colours. 

"What, do you want them over my head? Behind my back?" Mikleo tugs gently on his trapped wrists, his tone breathless. Suddenly he lights up. "Do you have handcuffs?"

It is so like him. Sorey wants to laugh, but he is unsure he has the oxygen to spare.

"For you," he pants, "I have rope." The exertion of the fight and the running is getting to him. "And maybe a box with a small air hole."

"Kinky." Mikleo grins, and the blood is on his teeth too. Sorey resists the urge to shake his head.

"That is," he says, "unless you somehow figure out how to turn into a snake and slither out of there. Then we'll adjust."

"You flatter me, officer."

Sorey almost rolls his eyes.

"Agent."

"Agent."

Never before has that sounded so coy. Sorey huffs in disbelief. There is a darkening bruise on Mikleo's cheek and his lip is split, but he lets none of the pain show in his expression. He looks for all the world as though they are just having a regular conversation, his smirk still in place. Sorey wonders what his escape plan is, whether or not he has actually cut it off.

They both tense at the sound of footsteps behind him. Mikleo's eyes drift over his shoulder, and in the darkness and proximity Sorey cannot interpret his stilling expression. Sorey clenches his jaw.

"That you, Alisha?" he asks. One second passes without answer, then two, then three.

Sorey tenses up and shifts his weight, but the newcomer is faster. A blow lands in the centre of his back and he pitches forward hard, his head colliding with Mikleo's. He hears a grunt of pain, and then he is being dragged backwards by the collar of his jacket.

Drawing from a strength that frankly astounds him, his attacker throws him into one of the display cases, shattering it and showering him with shards of glass. His hip catches on the cement pedestal and he ends up doubled over it. He groans.

Beneath him is a necklace of silver with a number of embedded sapphires. He barely has the time to note this before he is once again grabbed and manhandled to the floor. This too is a hard impact that leaves him reeling, but now he looks up to see a man he does not recognise. He is no more than a dark shape, broad shouldered and robust in the backlight of the windows. Silhouetted like this, he looks like a reaper come to claim Sorey's life. Sorey wonders if he will.

The stranger backs up a step, staring down at Sorey with his face invisible in the dark. He turns his head.

"You okay?" His voice is gruff. Mikleo coughs.

"Fine," he says, and Sorey notes a faint defensive tone. Mikleo walks past him.

"Leave him. He won't follow."

Annoying as it is, Mikleo is right. Sorey can only lie there and hope the world will stop spinning soon as he listens to their retreating footfalls. The museum ceiling is crisscrossed with shadows from the windows above. He closes his eyes, takes stock of the damage. Everything aches, but his left leg and head more so than other parts of him. There is a stinging sensation across his face and scalp that tells him of cuts from the glass.

"Sorey!"

More footsteps, Alisha's shoes crunching glass shards beside him. He opens his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose.

Alisha is speaking, but he cannot place the words just yet. Her voice is firm and businesslike, likely aimed at others through the comms instead of him. She lays her hand on his forehead, the other on his chest.

"What happened?" she asks. This he hears well enough to retain.

He tastes iron, but whether it is from the fight or a stray glass shard is anyone's guess. He feels the inside of his mouth with his tongue just to check that there is nothing there before he speaks.

"Our thief had backup," he mutters. Her hands are on him, checking him for serious injury. He grunts when she squeezes his hip.

"I need medical assistance," Alisha says to the air.

"Are the emeralds safe?" he asks.

Alisha shakes her head. "Gone. We got too split, and there were too many of them."

Sorey clenches his jaw. This was a trap, but whether it was set by Mikleo or Hecaton is anyone's guess. He turns his head slowly to look in the direction he heard Mikleo and the stranger disappear. It is just an empty hallway, inconspicuous in the dark.

Exhausted and defeated, he allows his eyes to fall closed again. Alisha will get him to safety.


	6. Chapter 6

"You are an idiot," Edna says. 

Mikleo ignores her. His whole body feels heavy and his jaw still aches from Sorey's annoyingly well placed fist. He pushes gently at his teeth with his tongue, feeling for damage. None seem to be loose, which is surprising. 

"A museum full of cops and what do you do?" She seems to be talking more to herself now than him, well invested in waxing poetic of the stupidity of tonight. "You punch one."

Mikleo glowers. 

"Technically he punched me."

"You don't," Edna says firmly, "pick fights with cops."

The anger in Mikleo's chest swells. His voice turns scathing. 

"Well, I'm sorry." He stands up and regrets it when the room begins to swim. "The place got swarmed with Interpol and I got cornered, so I improvised. I didn't see you coming up with any great ideas."

Edna meets his eyes, and hers are steely and cold. They stare each other down for a few long seconds. Then Edna turns away from him. 

"Idiot," she mutters. Mikleo opens his mouth. 

Something hard and cold hits him square in the chest. He catches it as it falls on instinct. It is an ice pack. 

Edna glares at him and he glares back. Slowly he lifts it to put over his jaw. The soothing cold feels too much like spite. 

"Enough," Eizen says. He glares at them from his perch by the window. "We ran into difficulty we didn't plan for. It happens. What matters is what we do now."

"Easy for you to say," Edna says bitterly. She types furiously on her laptop. "The emeralds are gone and we can't get them back. If we're to rally from here, we'll need more than you two out there."

She is right. Mikleo sighs deeply. It helps him to relax against the ice pack. 

"I have an idea," he says, and their eyes turn on him. This time he resists the urge to glare back. It is his fault that things went south tonight. It just upsets him. 

"We have a backup plan," he says. Edna raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh?"

"I'll need to make some calls," he says, "and I'd rather rest my jaw first.  We'll recover this. Trust me."

Edna looks as though she wants to argue, but Eizen's look stops her. Wordlessly she turns back to the laptop and begins to type. 

Eizen's eyes land on Mikleo. 

"That cop you wrestled," he says, and Mikleo suddenly wants to disappear back to his room and sleep through the night for once. "Was that the one you danced with at the ball?"

Mikleo nods slowly. 

Eizen nods too, as though he has confirmed something. 

"You seem to be having a lot of fun." 

There are many implications in that one sentence, but the foremost one is clear: he is putting them in danger. Mikleo swallows and considers his words, but then Eizen continues to speak. 

"At what point will he outstay his welcome?"

Mikleo's tenses. He sits up straighter and meets Eizen's eyes. 

"He is to be left alone," he says firmly. Eizen raises an eyebrow. 

"Is he that important?"

Eizen would never kill anyone, but he has a point in worrying about Mikleo's indiscretion. If not harmed, the agent can be dispatched of in other ways. Planted evidence, corrupt bureaucracy, the works. 

"It's not a matter of what I think of him," he says. 

"Then what is it?" Eizen's gaze is steely. He has the safety of their mission in mind. 

Mikleo deflates somewhat as he thinks. It is difficult to voice his answer in a way that will convince them. 

"He's a good cop," he says finally, and braces himself as he meets Eizen's eyes. "There aren't many of those."

Eizen does not react for a long moment. He simply looks at Mikleo as he considers these words. Then he relents, relaxing against the window frame. 

"Fair enough."

That seems to be the end of it. Mikleo bites the inside of his cheek. His jaw aches. 

Edna's back is turned to him. With his emotions running high, he wants to leave it like this, unresolved. But without the heat of the argument, the frantic adrenaline of the earlier chase, he finds it impossible to do so. He feels drained and disappointed, but that is not Edna's fault, and he knows why she is angry with him.

It takes some effort to relax his jaw enough to speak. He does so reluctantly.

"I'm sorry. They took me by surprise. It won't happen again."

The typing pauses for a moment, then resumes. 

"It better not," she says. There is no indication of her worry other than the tense set of her shoulders. 

He sits back in his chair. Saying any more than that will only earn him a snarky remark, so he turns his thoughts to planning. They will need to prepare. And Lords willing, they will be able to ensure the support they need.

* * *

 

Sorey makes it home two days after the museum mission. He has been patched up every which way, and it shows on his face. One of the cuts on his forehead required stitches, and the others have been sealed with simple surgical tape. 

Mason rears back as he opens the door, shock plain on his face. Sorey gives him an explanation that is as brief as he can make it. Natalie and Mason know he has a dangerous job, and that it is highly classified. Aqua is therefore transferred to his care with minimal questioning. 

He remains at home for a time after that, just recovering. His clash with a display case left him with a bruised hip and an ache all the way down his leg, so he relents to Sergei's insistence that he recover properly. However, it takes him less than a week to begin feeling like he wants to climb the walls of his small apartment. 

He spends a good deal of his time pacing, drinking tea, and going over what he knows. 

After two years of no sightings, he has encountered Mikleo twice in less than three months. These sightings have happened in Pendrago and Ladylake respectively, and the latter was somehow connected with the appearance of one of the top smugglers in either country. Thrown into the mix is also the appearance of a symbol of the Lefay family's stolen pride, now taken by what may well be the family itself, but Mikleo was also after something in that museum. 

He stops and turns by his bookcase. Could Lefay have hired Mikleo to steal the emeralds? It would make sense, but he has never heard of anything other than Mikleo working alone. Another option, besides Mikleo's presence being a complete coincidence, is that he was there to stop Hecaton from acquiring the emeralds. That raises the question of what the relationship is between these two criminals, and what could cause such a rivalry. They work in completely separate areas of law evasion, so a work rivalry is unlikely. Could it be less closely connected than that? 

He knows a good deal of history when it comes to the Lefays. Like many others at the agency, he has kept an eye on the family for years as they advanced through the ranks. Hecaton is not the only family member active in the business. He knows that much. 

He startles as the thought strikes him. There is a possible connection between the two, if a shaky one. Still, it encourages him enough to pick up the phone and dial Zaveid's number. 

"I need you to call for a briefing on the case," he tells him. "I might have a lead."

* * *

 

"Hecaton Lefay," he says and passes a printed image to the people around the table. "Active in the international weapons market for seven years now. Before that, he was an enforcer for his family's operations."

He passes another image around. "With such limited experience and young organisation, he is unlikely to be the newcomer, but he's not working on his own."

"This is the Lefays?" Alisha asks. She holds up the second image, a family portrait. A stone faced mother is flanked by two men and a boy. Sorey nods. 

"The one on the left is Asura Lefay, the head of their organisation. They've worked together since Hecaton started, but Asura had sixteen years before that to establish himself as the head of the family business. If anyone is branching out, I think it's him, and his brother is acting the messenger to the local criminal underworld."

"That so?" Zaveid eyes the picture. "An interesting theory, but what would Mikleo have to do with it?"

"Revenge," Sorey says simply. All eyes turn to him. 

"Dramatic," Zaveid says. "What for?"

Sorey takes out a third page and places it on the table between them. They all lean forward to see it. 

It is a blurry image taken from a security camera. The timestamp in the corner puts it at midnight, the thirty-fifth of Musiphell, twenty-two years ago. 

Zaveid looks at him, an odd quality in his eyes. 

"The Shepherd," Sorey says. 

They all know of him. A world famous thief, active for some time in the years prior to the one listed on the picture. It is taken from his Interpol file, one of the last ones taken of him before he disappeared.

He knows what they all think then. It is not the first time Mikleo has been connected, however fleeting the reasoning, to the Shepherd. Besides a similarity in thieving methods, near insurmountable skill, and many disguises, there is a distinct physical similarity between them as well. It is a risky theory to present as a lead, but Sorey feels confident in his hunch. 

Sergei's eyes are trained on him. Sorey bites the inside of his lip and waits. 

After a long moment of consideration, in which all their eyes turn on him expectantly, Sergei nods. 

"You're saying the Lefays are suspects in his disappearance?"

Sorey nods and sorts through his papers. He presents him with an old case file from the Interpol archive which Sergei accepts and skims. 

"Twenty-four years ago, the emeralds were briefly stolen from the royal vault," he explains. "The clues pointed to an inside job involving multiple people, and an investigation was launched with the Lefays as the suspects. However, two days later, the emeralds were returned."

Alisha looks up in surprise. 

"Returned how?"

"One morning they were just back in their place," Sorey says. "This time there was no sign of a break-in, not so much as a hair out of place."

Sergei nods. The latter points towards the stellar reputation the Shepherd maintained. 

"So the Lefays are deprived again of their inheritance," he says. 

"Through some of the more flawless crime ever performed," Sorey continues. "Two years later, Interpol's most wanted goes missing."

"And never resurfaces." Sergei closes the file and nods. 

"It's something to go on, at least. If we can catch Mikleo, we can question him further as to the validity of the story. The question now is who is one step ahead of whom."

"I would guess Lefay," Zaveid says. "One of them walked out of that museum with the emeralds, and it wasn't Mikleo. He was too busy getting his ass handed to him."

The smirk in Sorey's direction is a small consolation, but Sorey will take it. 

"It's still difficult to say. Either of them could have predicted the presence of Interpol, but one of them was able to turn it into an advantage."

"Then we split up," Sergei says. "Boris and I will try to find out Lefay's next move while Alisha and Gem look for any sign of Mikleo. Zaveid, you look into the Shepherd. See if there's anything to connect him more firmly to the Lefays."

Sorey opens his mouth, but Sergei comes first, firmly pointing a finger at him. 

"You are going home and continuing your resting." At Sorey's look, he adds, "Now."

Sorey considers arguing but he can recognise an argument he will not win. He nods. 

"Good. Dismissed." Sergei stands up and gathers the files on the table.

They shuffle out of the briefing room in silence. In the hallway outside, Gem takes Alisha's arm and begins to discuss their section of the case as they walk away. 

As Sorey turns to leave, Zaveid stops him with a hand on his arm. 

"Walk with me," he says. 

Sorey complies and they turn down a hallway towards Zaveid's office. It leads them away from the others. 

Without preamble, Zaveid says, "That's quite a bit of ancient history to draw on like that."

Sorey does not meet his eyes. "It was relevant to the case."

That is not what Zaveid is referring to but Sorey refuses to be the one to address it. Instead he waits until Zaveid can put his sentiment into words. Zaveid's eyes soften, but the set of his mouth remains firm. 

"I just want you to be careful. We're getting into some deep waters here, and I need you to keep your eye on the ball."

Sorey bristles. 

"I won't get distracted if that's what you mean. I've got more objectivity than that."

Zaveid stops walking then, and Sorey stops with him. Zaveid looks at him, and Sorey has the feeling of being weighed up against his potential to fail. He does not like it one bit. 

"All I'm saying," Zaveid says slowly, "is that this job is difficult enough without this kind of connection. You need to be careful and know when to step back."

Sorey considers arguing, but it would get him nowhere. Irritating as the idea is, Zaveid has a point. 

He relents and nods, just a quick dip of the chin. 

"I will," he says. 

"Good." The continue their walk. With this grave conversation out of the way, Zaveid's steps lighten. 

"Now let's go get some lunch. We have clues to go over."

Though his shoulders remain tense, Sorey is grateful for the reprieve. He is also grateful that Zaveid is not joining in on shooing him straight home. 

"Only if you're paying."


	7. Chapter 7

Two weeks after the mission at the museum, Sorey has healed up well enough to insist on returning to work full time. Sergei, who can also recognise an argument he will not win, allows him on the condition that he remain at his desk for another week. When that week is up, there is little that can hold him back.

Sergei calls on him and Zaveid in defeat, and they go to receive their section of the briefing. With little yielded from a superficial investigation, Sergei needs them to do some undercover work.

"Now, it's a small job," he assures them, "a local club with some local gossips in it. Lunarre has provided some names. You are to ignore the smalltime smuggling operation in it as busting that won't be all that useful just yet."

"They gossip about more than weapon smuggling?" Sorey asks, unable to completely keep the annoyance out of his voice. Leaving things unchecked is his least favourite part of the job.

"Loads," Sergei says, throwing him a look that clearly encourages him to leave it alone. "Get in, ask around, get out before anyone can memorise your faces. We'll need you in there more times, and you need to not get yourself any more injured than you already are. Zaveid," he meets Zaveid's eyes with gravity in his own, "make sure he doesn't get himself any more injured than he already is."

Sorey keeps from rolling his eyes in front of a senior agent. Zaveid nods.

"I will, sir."

Sergei nods.

"Good. Dismissed."

They spend the afternoon preparing, and the whole time Sorey has Mikleo and that dark stranger from the museum on his mind. He thinks of them and the image of the Shepherd, mid-lockpick as he got caught for the last time by a surveillance camera. Sorey weighs the images in his head.

There is a connection. Not one he can prove, but he knows that it is there. Mikleo going after the Emeralds is too much of a coincidence otherwise, and the appearance of reinforcements for him tells of a new kind of investment in the goal of stealing them. Mikleo has always been meticulous, and this should have been no different.

"Zaveid," he says. "Your research into the Shepherd. Did you find anything?"

"Not a thing." Zaveid throws a shirt over the door of a bathroom stall. Sorey throws a glance at the door.

They change at a café across the street from the designated club. People are already waiting in line outside. They will not get in.

"Nothing at all?" he asks. Zaveid sighs.

"The Shepherd. Thief and smuggler but no known forward connections. Active from two thousand four to two thousand twenty-eight with a total of over six hundred known thefts. He specialised in safes and high tech alarm systems."

"And nothing that can connect him to Lefay?"

"Besides the flawless return of the emeralds and the time frame of his going 'poof'? No."

Sorey frowns.

"What about a connection to Mikleo?" he asks.

Zaveid huffs. "Now there you might have something. I looked into some of Mikleo's earlier appearances."

"And?"

"And he knows how to pick his battles. His first loot was a piece from the personal vault of one Terra Historia."

"Historia?" Sorey racks his brain. He remembers the name, but not associated with Mikleo's file. "I thought his first loot was from the Rolance Historical museum."

Zaveid comes out of the bathroom stall a different man. His long hair has been swept into a wig that looks far too ordinary to fit his normal style. His eyes are covered by sunglasses, which Sorey finds ridiculous in a nightclub, but Zaveid might just have the charm to pull it off. His clothing is more conspicuous - an open shirt showing his bare chest and tight jeans. Judging from the queue outside the club, he will fit right in.

Sorey has long since changed. Zaveid takes one look at him and grins wide.

"Someone cleans up nice," he says and sweeps a hand towards Sorey's hair. Sorey ducks elegantly.

"Don't. You'll cut your hand. I'm pretty sure Lailah put the entire can of hairspray in it."

"A sacrifice I am willing to make."

Sorey sidesteps only once more before giving in and letting Zaveid have at it. He sighs.

"You were saying?"

"A moment." Zaveid pokes at the sharp spikes. "Right. So, the Historical Museum was the first heist he pulled off that got Interpol involved, but I dug a little deeper. Historia never reported the theft, but she keeps within certain circles. Word got out, turned to rumour, turned to legend. People apparently thought the Shepherd himself was back."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. Apparently she kept some tight security. Security that should have kept her safe since he had been gone for eight years by then."

Something sparks within Sorey. A flicker of hope, perhaps. He presses down on it to keep from getting too disappointed should they turn out to be wrong. It sounds a little too promising.

"Yet you don't sound reassured. Based on that I have to assume that that's all we have?"

"Bingo." Zaveid taps him on the nose. "But it's a start, and if there's anything else to know, we'll find it. Now go check your makeup. We're going clubbing."

* * *

 

Sorey spends the better part of the night sitting by the bar and waiting for their targets to appear. In such a dubious place he refuses to go the extra mile the way Zaveid is and talk up every stranger that passes him by. At least Zaveid seems to be enjoying himself.

The bartender - a woman in her late twenties with light blonde hair and a purple blouse that seems to him a little too sheer - makes a pass or two at him. He does his best to gently deflect her (as far as he can keep it gentle over the beat of the music) while maintaining an exterior tough enough to justify his drinking at her bar. He has seen more than one knife hilt peeking out from belts and shoes tonight. No guns so far, but he would not put it past them.

"You sure you want nothing else?" the bartender asks. He gives her his best sharp smile.

"Look, Sierra." She is not wearing a nametag, but the first thing she did upon his arrival was lean across the bar and purr it in his ear. "I'm not here for pleasure. Now, find someone else to take you home."

It is difficult to pay attention to everything that goes on around him with the loud music, but it is clear just from a glance around the room what is actually happening. In every booth is a couple or two that are clearly there for reasons other than the party going on in the middle of the room. Zaveid has been swept into one of them with a man and two women. He blends in perfectly, fully aware of what this particular meeting needs to look like to onlookers. One of the women is practically in his lap at this point. 

Sorey pays half-hearted attention to it, ready to intervene should things turn sour. The other half he dedicates to keeping an eye on the entrance. He takes in each person that comes in and dismisses them as irrelevant. Not a target in sight yet. 

It is possible that their particular marks have heard that Lunarre has been arrested, in which case they would be unlikely to be seen anywhere in the city, much less their usual haunt. Sorey has a feeling that Sergei considered this and that this might be the gentlest mission he could afford Sorey while he recovers further. Annoying as it is, he still sees the necessity in double checking. 

He spends two hours like that, hunched up at the bar and bored out of his mind. Then he flinches when the music is roughly cut into by what sounds like a chair colliding with the floor behind him. 

Barring the music, the room goes calm. The dancers slow up in confusion and everyone turns to see two men clash in a fight in the middle of the floor. A wide berth is being formed around them and when Sorey glances left, he can see the bouncer mentally preparing himself for another long night. 

At first it starts like a regular fight. The two of them throw a couple of uncoordinated swings, making it clear that this is a drunk affair on both sides. Then one stray punch collides with a bystander's jaw instead of its intended target. 

Sorey catches Zaveid's eye and nods. In a regular club, this might have been diffused in minutes. In this one, this is likely meant to be a distraction for something more sinister at work. This room is filled with more tension than most, and there are few in it that do not know what will happen. They also all know to take advantage of it. 

As though a coin has flipped, the room erupts in chaotic violence. Sorey sees Zaveid disappear into the fray and wonders whether he would appreciate any attempt to save him. It would feel good to get to stretch his muscles a bit.

Then again, he promised Sergei not to do anything too rash on his first mission since the injury. He sighs and looks around for a good place to wait it out. All around him fists are flying and choice words are being exchanged. He dodges a beer bottle that crashes into the shelf behind the bar and shatters several more expensive bottles upon impact.

He turns to survey the damage, but then he sees Sierra, poised and ready to attack with a knife in hand. It takes him only a moment to realise that she is coming towards him, and he dodges well enough that her first swipe is a useless wave in thin air.

"Hey, now," he says. Behind the bar her reach is limited, but he would rather not back too far and end up in the middle of the fighting. "I didn't do anything."

"I know," Sierra says, and her charming smile is gone. "It's your jacket. I think it would look nicer on me."

He sidesteps another swipe. Sierra begins to round the bar, and he resigns himself to this being how his evening will end. She dives, and this time he resolves to catch her. He ends up with a firm grip on her wrists.

"I don't suppose I can just give it to you?" he asks casually. She twists in his grip, but he holds firm.

"Could, should," she says, "but I'm feeling a bit slighted tonight."

With that, she knees him firmly in the gut. She aims elsewhere, but he ducks down in time for her to hit something less sensitive. It still knocks the breath out of him, and Sierra throws him back against the bar and raises the knife.

Then another hand takes hold of her wrist. Someone behind her turns her firmly, sharply, and slams her into the bar hard. They then grab her by the back of her neck and knock her head twice against the rosewood bar top.

Sorey stands up in time to catch her and lower her to lie against it before she hits the floor. The newcomer - a woman with short red hair and blue eyes - smiles politely at him.

"You're welcome," she says and gestures elegantly to the bar. "Shall we?"

Concerned, he takes a moment to check Sierra's pulse first. Her assailant waits for him, the picture of charmed grace. Satisfied that she is breathing and not too damaged, Sorey dives behind the bar after the woman. They just barely avoid the impact of another bar patron being thrown into the row of stools.

Sorey settles into a crouch, inches from the new woman.

"It's nice to meet you," she says, as though they are passing each other in a public park. "I'm Felice."

Well, this was certainly not part of the plan, but a possible contact is a possible contact. 

"Aaron," Sorey says, smiling back. They shake hands amidst something crashing into the shelves above them.

"Well, you're welcome, Aaron. You really should be more careful in a place like this."

Sorey chuckles. "I guess you're right. I'm just here looking for a friend."

"That so?" Felice smiles, a secret smile. "Well, I know my way around this place pretty well. I'm sure I can help you find who you're looking for."

Sorey takes in her face and the expensive clothing she should have no business wearing in here. Her short hair is immaculately styled.

"It's very possible you can," he says and summons his most charming smile. "I'd be honoured to accept your help."

* * *

 

They return to work the next morning as usual. Zaveid is a little worse for wear, but he wears his bruises with an air of satisfied pride. Sorey bears his posturing with good humour.

Sergei is less than happy to see them in the state they are in. He stares them down with his arms crossed over his chest until Sorey gets the sense to be the first to break the silence. 

"If it helps anything, I found a contact that might be onto something."

Zaveid chimes in then. "I did too. Several, in fact."

Sergei does not glare, as it is not his way, but he does look very disappointed as his eyes flit between them, searching out any trace of guilt. He finds some in Sorey, less in Zaveid. 

"We're sorting those out later. Come." He then turns and begins to walk away, effectively confusing them both. Sorey glances at Zaveid and gets the same questioning look in return. They then scramble to catch up. 

"What is it?" Sorey asks, jogging slightly to keep up with Sergei's long legs. Sergei does not look at him, but simply walks with a determination that seems entirely new. 

"We had a bit of an adventure ourselves while you were gone," he says simply. "An hour after you left, I received a phone call from a Beatrice Steele, who had something to ask of me."

"Steele?" Sorey stops walking for just a moment, but the fact that the other two are getting away quickly catches up to him. "From town hall? As in-"

"Lukas Marlin," Sergei confirms. "He's requested our help."

"Marlind's mayor?" Zaveid seems just as baffled. "What could he want from us?"

"Security," Sergei replies. "I've set up a meeting in which he will participate. He will apparently explain himself then."

The two men share another confused look, but they follow him dutifully to the meeting room.

* * *

 

Lukas Marlin politely requests their help with the protection of a house he owns. A summer home, though more of a mansion, nestled into the base of Mount Mabinogio. He justifies it with the necessity of protecting a very important artefact (a bowl, he informs them) previously excavated from the ruins further up the mountain. All of this he relays over the phone in the meeting room. 

After he finishes this explanation, there is a moment in which all of them just take in the absurdity of it. It is as though he has called a wrong number, but he surely knows to whom he speaks. 

"Sir, you know we respect your need for security," Sergei begins, and Sorey admires his ability to take this seriously. It sounds more than frivolous to him. "I am just confused as to the motive for an Interpol retinue specifically. All due respect, why would you need us as opposed to a regular company of guards?"

"Because," the mayor says over the line, "I have a very delicate situation, and it will take some finesse to keep this particular breed of mouse from burrowing into my home. I am in need of the best."

They all look around at each other as though searching for someone who understands him. Even Sergei looks utterly confused. 

"What does that mean, sir?"

"It means," Marlin says, and nothing prepares them for his next few words, "that I am expecting a certain gentleman thief within the next few days, and I would like him caught and jailed rather than watch as he sidesteps a mountain of incompetent rent-a-cops. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to discuss details."


	8. Chapter 8

"You can't mean to go along with this?"

They all stare at Sergei after the call ends. He looks every bit as annoyed by this as they are. 

"We are in the middle of an investigation that is time sensitive," Alisha insists. "We cannot go on a goose chase just because he claims Mikleo will be there."

"Marlin has more than enough contacts to force us to do this," he says. "I would not make this call myself, but we might not get the choice at all."

"And if we lose Lefay's trail?" Zaveid asks. 

"Then we find it again," Sergei says, though the annoyance is still clear in his voice. "There is little else we can do."

"So, what?" Sorey shakes his head, though some part of him is sparking with unwanted hope. "We just take his word that Mikleo will be there? How would he even be able to know that?" 

If they have not been able to pick up the trail for over a decade, then surely the mayor should not be able to do it on his own. Something is surely off about this.

"He wouldn't," Sergei answers, "but as I said, he has the say here. He's had the royal family's favour for decades now, and neutral agency or no, we're in no way immune to their influence."

He leans forward on the table and visibly composes his thoughts. "Now, we are sorting out a plan of action. Marlin needs us for a week before the artefact moves on to the museum. We'll do this and get back to work as soon as we can. You have my word."

Though none of them are happy about this, each one of them would follow their team leader into far worse than this. They rally quickly and begin to plan.

* * *

 

As well rested as he is, Sorey feels confident enough in his recovery to continue his training. The next morning sees him in the agency gym, in the company of only two other agents. Delighted at the news that he is well enough to exercise, Lailah decides to join him for some good natured sparring on the training mats. It is not what he planned on, but he takes it in stride.

A swift twist of Lailah's arm puts him on the ground for the third time in an hour. An older agent, Lailah has mentored him since he began his career at the agency. He has yet to surpass her hand to hand prowess, though Alisha has gotten close a few times. Given his healing ills, she has agreed to go easy on him for the moment.

While they spar, they make small talk, as they often do.

"So this lead you've got," she says as she allows him some time to rise and get his bearings. "Do we have anything to support it?"

"Felice doesn't appear in any of our files," he says. "And finding traces of her the subtle way would take up a lot of time. I don't see why we can't just chance her tip and look up the names she gave me."

"Because I know some of them and none of them are good news," Lailah says. With no warning, she aims a kick at his chest, which he dodges with enough urgency to thoroughly unbalance himself. She takes advantage and pushes forward, forcing him to give some ground.

"So Sergei can send in someone more subtle than Zaveid and I," he says, aiming a retaliatory kick. "I'm sure if we can take them by surprise, we can get something. If we wait to long, they'll catch wind of us looking."

Lailah weathers his attack and redirects him expertly, sending him stumbling towards the edge of the mat. He barely recovers enough to avoid her final push to get him off it. If he steps on the floor, the round is over.

"And if they catch us in the act, they disappear forever." She puts her hands on her hips. He knows better than to take the bait of her lowering her guard. "You need to learn to be patient."

"We've got two days before we go on a full week mission to do nothing at all." Sorey frowns. "There's no room here for my patience, which for the record is normally endless."

He does not like Lailah's smile. "Like it was at the ball?"

Sorey feels his ears redden, but he refuses to let it show on his face. He raises his chin.

"That's different. Mikleo's game is speed. You stop to think, he goes up in smoke."

"You've tested this?" Lailah smirks.

Sorey goes on the offensive with a sequence of kicks. Lailah weathers it expertly. In a moment of blurred confusion, she has him on the floor again.

He wheezes with the impact, but he still has the grace to be amused.

"Five out of seven?"

"You know, you're going to get yourself injured again." Lailah smiles. She offers a hand and pulls him back onto his feet.

She hesitates for a moment, and Sorey is unsure if she means for her thoughts to show on her face. She looks concerned.

He clasps her hand in both of his. "Lailah, I'm being careful. I promise."

She reminds him a lot of his mother. The worrying is certainly of the same kind. It is both touching and a tad frustrating, but he knows they both mean well.

Lailah looks into his eyes and there is a gravity in hers that surprises him. He was not expecting such seriousness.

"Be careful around Lukas," she says. "I've dealt with him before, and this request of his sounds all kinds of off. Whatever it is he wants, it's not a personal Interpol security detail."

That intrigues him, but he has known Lailah long enough that he knows not to question her. He nods.

"I will."

Her concern yields to a gentle smile. "Good enough. Now," she backs up and readies herself,  "be less careful."

She winks. It makes Sorey laugh.

"You're on."

* * *

 

That afternoon he does rest at his desk, quite sore from the morning's activities. When he returns to Natalie's and Mason's apartment, Aqua greets him with another bracing lunge. He greets her happily and takes her home. Halfway through his dinner preparation, the phone rings. He picks it up while stirring stroganoff.

"Hello?"

"Sorey?"

"Hi mom." He smiles to himself. "What's up?"

"Not much, just getting some work finished up before bed." He can hear her typing in the background. "Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing."

"I'm good," he says. "Got some good work done today and making some nice dinner. Aqua's with me, too." He takes the phone from his ear momentarily and turns on the speaker. "Say hi, girl."

It is a command he has taught her, and so she obediently gives as gentle a bark as she can. Selene laughs softly over the line. 

"Hi, honey," she coos, "Good girl."

Sorey puts the phone back. "So how's work going?"

"Oh, you know," she says. "Freelancing. Always in demand, right?" 

He chuckles. "Right."

"And you? Getting in any unnecessary danger?" 

"Mother," he almost shakes his head, but as he is now draining the pasta, his cheek is the only thing keeping the phone in place. "You know all the danger I get in is necessary."

"Somehow, I have a hard time believing that," she says. 

Sorey stops. Something was off about the way she said that, but he cannot put his finger on it. "Mom, is something wrong?"

"Nothing, honey." There is a pause, then, "I just have a bad feeling, is all."

Sorey thinks of the Lefays, their cooling trails and the corruption they could bring to this place if left unchecked. If his mother knew who he was trailing, she would not be happy with him at all. Still, he does his best to sound nonchalant and comforting. 

"I'm fine, mom. I won't do anything risky. You know that."

"Well, I never said that," she jokes. 

Sorey smiles. 

They continue to talk while he finishes his dinner. She asks him about Aqua and Alisha and how Ladylake looks this time of year. He asks her about Loghrin and how she fares alone in that big city. Neither of them will quite give to the other's concern, but it stops neither of them from continuing to express it. But Selene is his mother, and he knows from where he gets his stubbornness and strength. She will be fine, and so will he. 

He eats dinner in the living room with Aqua curled up at his feet. He puts the tv on, but his thoughts soon drift back to the case and to Lukas. The whole thing is bizarre.

Lailah's warning resonates with him as he thinks on it. Marlin has never been known as a virtuous mayor, at least not among those in the know, but he has never been a real threat to the order in the city. A few deals with smugglers and some shadiness around his election is the worst they have ever found on him, and of course none of it will stick to him, but Lailah is a capable agent with a lot of experience. It makes him wonder what she meant, warning him of someone like that. 

Sorey has never been above admitting that there are things he does not know, but in this particular instance, it bothers him a lot not to. Whatever they are doing at that vacation home - for it is surely not guarding an artefact that no one but Marlin and the museum would truly want -  it cannot be good news. 


	9. Chapter 9

Every step of preparing and stationing at Marlin's summer home feels needless. They still take great care to make sure it all goes according to plan. 

Marlin's personal security has vacated the building to let Interpol work uninterrupted. Marlin himself is nowhere in the house. Each room is fancier than the next, and Sorey is irritably reminded with each one he passes through that Lukas comes from old money. Not only that, but he comes from the family after which the city is named. Between these facts and the fact that he has been superficially linked to some of its organised crime, it is no understatement to say that he owns the city. 

Evidently, he thinks dryly, he seems to own part of the Interpol as well, if only in the most unofficial sense. 

He walks through a room where one wall is clear glass. From here he can see the whole valley outside and the city of Ladylake in the distance. On the opposite walls are paintings of the landscape, of Hellawes in the north, and of some unnamed woods. Besides them, the room is sparse. There are only a couple of couches and a table to indicate the ability to lounge in this room. 

Sorey draws back his sleeve and adjusts the channel frequency of his comm. He and Alisha have their own channel, usually meant for missions where they are paired together. He connects to it now and pings Alisha. 

She answers within seconds. "Report."

He smiles wryly. "Nothing urgent. Just bored. Figured it wouldn't be too distracting to talk a little bit."

He can hear her hesitation in the silence. Alisha is a good agent, if not one of the best. She would take a dog walk seriously if it was somehow attached to Interpol. 

"Fair enough," she says. 

Sorey wanders through three more halls that are too big to be necessary as they talk. Alisha asks how Aqua is and he talks about her last checkup at the veterinary. He asks her about a family dinner he knows has happened in the last week and she weaves past that question in a way that tells him exactly how it went. Then they get onto the subject of Mikleo, and frustration quickly begins to creep into their voices. 

"Do you think he'll actually show up?" she asks. "How would Marlin even know that?"

"I'm not sure," Sorey says, checking behind a curtain just to make sure. "The target fits him well enough."

"Anything fits him well enough," Alisha says. "We've never pinned down a pattern for him in marks or stolen goods. He goes to Pendrago and is then seen in Ladylake. Marlin has no clear connection to Lefay, and Lefay has no clear connection to Forton beyond his presence at the masquerade. There’s no thread we can pull on for him here."

Something about that sticks in Sorey’s mind. He frowns. 

"Is Lefay working with Forton right now?"

"No. He hasn't for years now. If anything, he was there to drum up business." 

"Does Forton not need him or something?" Sorey wonders aloud. There is no connection they know of between Forton and the smuggling market in either country, but would she leave it untapped with the power she has? 

"I don't know," Alisha says slowly, as though realising the same thing. "You'd think she'd use them if she could."

"Meaning that she probably can't. Do you think that's something we should be looking into?"

He moves another curtain out of the way to look behind it. It would do them no good to have accusations of not having done a thorough job, and quite honestly it is a little pinch more entertaining than just walking through a bunch of empty rooms. He looks out the window in this room and sees only the yard, closed in between the house and the mountain. 

He realises that there have been several seconds of silence now. 

"Alisha?" 

There is some static on the other end. Then he hears it. A voice that is faint, due to less proximity to Alisha's mic, and definitely not hers. 

"Oh, you are kidding me."

Sorey freezes, curtain still in hand. He knows that voice. 

"What the-" Alisha sounds as surprised as he is. "Sorey, get to my-"

A sharp crackling overtakes the audio and Sorey flinches with the loudness of it. He takes the comm out and inspects it for damage, but there is nothing superficially wrong with it. Putting it back in, he heads quickly for the door. 

As he runs, he changes his comm frequency again. 

"All teams, I need backup at Alisha's position," he says. Static is the only response he gets, followed by the same sharp crackle again. He stumbles a bit and removes the comm, stashing it in his pocket for the moment. 

He reaches the hallway Alisha was circling. She could be in any of the rooms within it. He tries the first door. It is empty, so he tries the next, then the next. 

He finds her in the fourth room from where he started. The sight that greets him within that room almost makes him smile. 

Alisha is in the far end of the room, facing Sorey and a third person that stands between them. Sorey recognises Mikleo when the latter turns around at the sound of his entrance. He is wearing all black this time, his hair long and brown. 

Sorey sees only a flash of lavender lenses before Mikleo turns back to the fight at hand. Alisha takes full advantage of his momentary lapse in attention. She puts the palm of her hand to his chest and pushes, staggering him and sending him scrambling to block her next strike. He grunts with the impact of it, his stance already off. 

"It looks like our comms are down," Alisha says, and Sorey realises that she is speaking to him. "We'll have to handle this ourselves for the moment. 

"Alright."

Mikleo comes to a stop between the two of them and backs out of Alisha's reach. He throws a glance Sorey's way again, gauging his chances to get away. 

"You know," Sorey says, perhaps to the both of them. "I owe Zaveid fifty dollars now. I didn't think you'd show up."

That is an invitation Mikleo cannot resist. He turns and flashes a brief smile, showing teeth. 

"Guess I aim not to disappoint either."

At first, the distraction seems to meet its intended purpose. Alisha dives forward, and Mikleo does not turn in time. He does, however, sidestep her and dodge expertly out of the way. Sorey is surprised, rushing forward to catch Alisha before her momentum can allow him too much space to escape, but a sense of acceptance sets in immediately. Mikleo is nothing if not a quick thinker, and irritatingly enough, he knows most of Sorey's usual methods. 

Fortunately, this only puts Mikleo closer to the window and corners him between it and them. It is another one of those full wall windows, showing the mountain range in the distance. There is nothing for Mikleo to land on outside should he decide on doing something drastic. 

To their credit, Mikleo does look a bit taken off guard. There is a certain body language he uses, whether intentionally or not, when he is consciously a step ahead of them. He becomes more relaxed and his eyes remain steadfast on Sorey then. He is doing no such thing now. His eyes flit between them and the doorway, to the adjacent one and back. None of his options seem very desirable at the moment. 

Sorey draws his gun and aims, advancing slowly. 

"We're gonna need you to lie down and put your hands on your back."

Mikleo meets his eyes. After so many meetings with him, he is proud to be able to note the indecision in Mikleo's face. Perhaps this time, they truly have cornered him. 

Then Alisha groans in pain and clutches at her head suddenly. It draws Sorey's eyes from him for just a moment. 

"Are you okay?"

It all happens very quickly. With a sound and motion like a garage door, the window behind Mikleo begins to open. Sorey looks frantically between him and Alisha as the latter takes her comm out of her ear. 

"Fine," she says over the noise. "Get Mikleo!"

He is already too late. Mikleo has produced a grapple gun from somewhere on his person and fired it at the ceiling. The hook embeds itself in a split crack. Then he spares only a glance at the drop behind him before jumping and disappearing downward, out of sight. He does not stop to look if he is being followed. 

Sorey holsters the gun and runs to look out the open window. 

It becomes immediately clear to him that Mikleo had no intention of grappling the whole way down the mountainside from here. Instead he sees another open window just below him and the rope leading straight into it. He looks back at Alisha. 

"He's one floor down. Are you alright?"

The second sentence is born out of necessity, because Alisha still looks a bit worn. Nevertheless, she meets his eyes steadily. 

"Something overloaded the comms. We should leave them out for the moment." She nods to the door. "I'll go down and see if I can flank him. You follow through there."

They waste no more time than that. Without hesitation Sorey grabs the rope that hangs from the ceiling and swings himself out the window as Alisha retreats through the open door. He falters for a moment as the windows begin to close again with another sudden groan. 

A little more frantic, he lowers himself carefully to the next window. It is already halfway closed, sliding into place like the doors of a grocery store. He swings inside and lets the rope fall to the floor. The new room he finds himself in is dark with furniture all around him covered in white sheets. More paintings line the walls, these as tall as Sorey himself is. He can barely make out what they are with the brightness of the window contrasted by the darkness further inside the room. 

The one door he can see is closed. He runs to it. 

Outside is a hallway that is just as empty. Not so much as a disturbance in the dust. The carpet is soft and fluffy here, and Sorey feels a little awkward just stepping on it with his shoes on. He flinches at the sound of footsteps down the hallway from him.

Alisha comes into view, ragged and panting. "Did you see where he went?"

She hunches slightly as she calms down. Sorey shakes his head. 

"I think he had too much  of a head start. Without the team at hand, we'll never pin him down."

"Well, we've got to at least try." Alisha straightens again. "I'll go this way, you go there."

She turns and runs back the way she came. Sorey is about to do the same in the other direction when he notices something that stops him. 

Alisha's footsteps are clearly represented by tracks in the plush carpet where she stepped. They are faint, but they are definitely there. 

He turns and looks down the stretch of hallway he is to cover, the only other way Mikleo could have gone from the room at his back. The carpet there is smooth, undisturbed. 

He looks through the doorway and into the empty room. 

"Did you really?" he asks no one in particular. Then he walks back in to search. 

A second look at this room does not tell him much more than the first did. Flicking the lights on, however, does. 

The furniture is all as undisturbed as the carpet outside. He can see some of the dust they stirred up while entering the room, but nothing of the sort closer to any of the couches or tables. It is unlikely that Mikleo could hide underneath any of it, and so Sorey looks around all the corners of the room. It is a silly notion, but he would not put it past Mikleo to just throw his back against the wall the moment he landed in here, wait for Sorey to run past him, and then head for freedom in the other direction. It seems unlikely as well, as the window closed just behind Sorey. 

That leaves only the paintings. He can tell now that they are all of different landscapes and cities, elaborately framed and expensive, no doubt. The first is a portrait view of the entrance to Marlind, the city standing tall in the background. He traces the frame and tilts it lightly forward to check behind it. Nothing but plain wall. He goes on to a portrait of the Zaphgott Moor in the corner, tipping it forward and tracing it the same way. Two more paintings delay him significantly before he reaches a tall image of Pendrago seen from the wide view of a nearby mountain. He tips it forward and finds a chrome door frame behind it. 

The painting is thin and wobbles as he opens it. He takes extreme care with moving it out of the way. A lawsuit over broken property would only add to their problems, and he has no doubt that there are cameras in this room and all the others. Behind the painting is a door just the right size to remain obscured. 

Inside he finds a tunnel lit up by weak fluorescent lights. He takes off running without a second thought. Mikleo already has too much of a head start. 

At first he worries that the tunnel will branch out into a maze, but it mercifully remains just the one. He runs long enough that he begins to worry that perhaps this is not the only tunnel leading out of that room and perhaps Mikleo escaped through a different painting, but then he sees it. A door in the distance, and Mikleo crouched and trying to pick its lock. 

He stands up when Sorey nears. His footsteps echo in the small space, so there is no chance for him to sneak. This might be one of the only times when he does not need to. He has Mikleo in an actual dead end, and this time he is not letting anything past him. 

Mikleo turns to him with all the confidence and swagger he usually displays. Sorey buys none of it. 

"I almost didn't think you were going to make it," Mikleo says. 

Sorey grins and makes no effort to hide it. 

"I guess we can just agree that we're both impressive people."

Mikleo actually chuckles at that. He shakes his head fondly, as though they are good friends just having a conversation. 

"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" he says. "I've got a ride waiting."

Sorey goes to draw his gun and realises with a start that it is not there. With growing irritation he realises that he forgot to lock it into the holster before his little trek down the side of the house. A trek that definitely involved bending his knees at an angle at which it would fall. It is probably broken against the cliffside below. 

Some small part of him, one that reminds him remarkably of Sergei, is shaking its head in utter disappointment.

"Fair enough," he replies in lieu of letting it show on his face. He takes a stance, prepared to fight, and Mikleo lines up with him to do the same. 

They stare each other down for a long moment, and Sorey realises that he feels confident in his chances. They have shown themselves to be fairly evenly matched when they have fought before, and Sorey has the added advantage that the building is full of people there to back him up. Given that he left the door open, Alisha is bound to find them once she circles back around to the room with the paintings. 

He weathers Mikleo's first attack, blocking it and giving just a bit of ground. It does him well to instil Mikleo with confidence that he has the advantage. It will make him more likely to make mistakes. 

"Why are you here anyway?" he asks as Mikleo backs off again. 

The question has been on his mind, in the hypothetical since the mission briefing and in the practical since he saw Mikleo fighting Alisha one floor up. 

"What is it about that bowl that means you're willing to go after Marlin?" he asks. 

Mikleo sidesteps and feints, trying to sweep his legs and just barely failing. Sorey takes the advantage for what it is and lunges, but Mikleo rolls out of the way. 

"Marlin is nothing to be scared of," he says, smiling lightly. "And what if I like bowls?"

"You know of its origin, no doubt." Sorey goes on the offensive then, and already he can feel the toll his previous injuries take on his fighting. He begins to hope that Alisha will be quick with her circling around. "The question is if you just want it or if you want it for something."

"What if it's not even me that wants it?" Mikleo raises both eyebrows. "There's nothing barring me from selling it."

"Except that you don't," Sorey says firmly. "You never do."

Mikleo straightens for a moment and looks as though he may have a retort to that. It falls short as he opts for scoffing instead. 

"I sell things."

"Not things like this." Sorey shakes his head. "Never."

"I-"

Mikleo's answer is cut short by a rumbling sound that shocks them both into silence. It sounds like thunder striking, except that it also sounds far too close to be outside the cave they are in. A second rumble is accompanied by a rough trembling in the ground beneath them. 

Sorey looks in shock between Mikleo and the cave walls, and Mikleo for once actually looks rattled. Sorey opens his mouth, but then a third rumble, this with more shaking, sets them both stumbling. Then his heart leaps into his throat. The stone floor beneath them shakes with a force like an earthquake, and then Sorey feels as though he is floating as it gives way beneath them. 

He has only a moment to open his mouth and scream, and it is overtaken by the sound of the cave crumbling around them. His vision goes dark, and he knows no more. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

At first Sorey thinks that they might have both died. His arms are numb, and the darkness closes in on him like pressure in deep water. His ears ring in the silence.

His voice echoes a bit, and it sounds as though it travels upwards. He looks up, but there is nothing to see, much less anything to indicate the size of the space around him. Clenching his fists, he feels debris and dust roll off him as he moves to sit up.

A moment of silence passes. Then he hears Mikleo's voice. Close by, but muted, weakened by strain and fresh shock.

"I'm fine."

A beat of silence. Worry squeezes Sorey's chest as his eyes flit about, searching for some sliver of light to navigate by.

"What about you?" Mikleo asks.

Sorey gathers his thoughts and runs his hands over himself, feeling for injuries. There is a sharp ache in his chest where a rock hit him on the way down, as well as a few cuts here and there.

It could be worse, considering the utter destruction of the tunnel. By all rights, they should both be dead and buried already.

"I'm good," he replies. His eyebrows knit as he considers his next words.

"Are you sure, though? You sound a little…"

He does not quite know how to finish, but Mikleo seems to understand him. The pretence between them, the wall he usually finds in place of any actual sincerity, seems to have been as unsettled as they were by the collapse of the cave. Mikleo's voice is entirely different now, softer and thinner. Sorey hates for this to be the time he gets to hear it like that.

"Just a little dizzy," Mikleo says in that same muted tone. "I'll be alright."

Sorey notices that echo more the more they speak. He fumbles for his jacket pocket and roots around in it for a moment before his hand closes on what he is looking for. He pulls out and sparks a mini flashlight. It comes to life with a dull click, and for a moment the space seems to explode with light.

He covers his eyes and hears a pained groan from Mikleo's direction. When he opens them, the light seems much weaker. He blinks, and his eyes adjust.

They sit in a small dark space filled with rocks, dirt, and dust. Shining the light upwards, he can see that the brick tunnel they last found themselves in is now far above them, visible through a hole in what was probably its floor. They must have fallen through it, flanked by the debris that lies all around them.

He shines the light downwards and sees a trampled dirt floor. It is the only indication that the small space is more than a simple sinkhole. He guesses at another tunnel, though they are closed in by the rockslide on all sides. He sees a sharp stone partially buried under dust, uncomfortably close to where his head lay just a moment prior.

He swallows hard. A quick look around reveals Mikleo sitting some distance away, his face turned towards the light. He blinks when it lands on him, squinting painfully.

Sorey stands up a little too quickly. A wave of nausea and dizziness follows him up. He sways for a second or two before making his way as quickly and carefully as he can past the loose rocks scattered about.

Mikleo looks hesitant as he approaches, as though he might try to get up and move away, but by some force of will he remains still. Sorey kneels next to him, setting down the light so that it points upward and illuminates the space at large.

"Your face," Sorey says, a little breathless. "You're bleeding."

Mikleo blinks owlishly. He puts a hand to his forehead. A thin trickle of blood snakes down his temple and drips slowly from his jaw. He inspects the blood on his fingers, and his expression shutters.

"Here," Sorey says, reaching for him, "let me check it."

Mikleo flinches away, shaking his head and by the looks of it regretting that action immediately.

"It's alright. It's just a scratch."

Sorey frowns, but he does not argue. Instead he reaches into his pockets again and produces a packet of tissues. He offers it to Mikleo, who looks at it skeptically.

"Take them," he says. Mikleo does so.

Cold fear seizes him at the sight of Mikleo tenderly poking at an unseen injury under his bangs. He busies himself with looking around the area they are in.

There are remains of the crumbled floor all around them, and the walls above the piles are too steep to climb. Trying to dig their way out at this level would pose too much of a risk of unsettling things. He sees no immediate solution other than waiting for his team. He draws in a slow breath.

"Looks like we'll have to wait until someone digs us out of here," he says. There is a hiss of pain, and he turns back to Mikleo, who has pulled his ponytail free and is now working on something underneath his bangs that Sorey cannot see. Sorey's hands twitch to help, but he suspects that it would be ill received.

By way of some careful fiddling, Mikleo finally pulls loose a gold circlet that glints in the hard white light. It is bloodied on one side where it lay against the injury.

"Must have scratched me on the way down," Mikleo says, turning it over in his hands. He puts it down on his lap and tears into the tissue packet.

Mikleo may be skilled in many areas, but it becomes downright painful to watch him try to find the damage only by feeling his forehead and flinching. Sorey's concern practically possesses him and he takes the tissue packet before Mikleo can stop him.

"Let me," he says, glaring just a little when Mikleo opens his mouth. "You're going to get it infected this way."

He gently brushes the bangs out of the way. He cannot see much beyond the drying blood and so he reaches for the flashlight. Mikleo bears the light in his eyes with little fuss. The cut is smaller than Sorey thought it would be and thankfully shallow.

"Head wounds usually look worse than they are," he says as he presses the tissue to it and weathers Mikleo's wince.

"I know." Mikleo seems to deflate slightly as he says it. His eyes drift from Sorey's face to the empty darkness. Sorey guides his hand to it, and he presses carefully on the tissue.

Satisfied that there is pressure on the wound, Sorey takes another tissue and begins to gently wipe at the drying blood on Mikleo's face. Mikleo endures it with little reaction. His eyes are a little glassy but still as unreadable as ever.

Acutely aware of his presence and body language, Sorey suppresses the urge to lick the tissue. Some dried blood stubbornly remains.

When he speaks, his voice feels unreasonably loud.

"How do you feel? You said you were dizzy?"

Mikleo hesitates, then sighs.

"Yeah, a bit. I don't think I'm concussed, though. If I stay still for a bit, it should let up."

"That your professional opinion?" Sorey raises an eyebrow. "We'll have to have someone look at you when we get out of here."

Mikleo meets his eyes. "Oh?"

Sorey huffs.

"What, is your bruiser from the museum going to dig you out by himself?"

"He might." Mikleo tilts his chin up. It is a familiar expression made into something new by the blood and dirt on his face. The usual front he presents is undermined by it in a way that Sorey finds himself appreciating.

"You're a very capable set of thieves, huh?" Sorey says. To his surprise, it makes Mikleo chuckle.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Mikleo's free hand toys with the circlet in his lap, turning it this way and that. Sorey's eyes are drawn to the motion.

It is a beautiful piece of jewellery, he can tell. A gold band with an emerald in the centre. It looks light, the way Mikleo twirls it between thumb and forefinger.

Sorey subtly glances up at Mikleo's face. He goes through a mental catalogue of the times they have met before. He has never seen Mikleo without bangs covering his forehead. Sorey wonders how often he wears it during heists.

"Where did you get that?" he asks. It looks delicate and expensive, but he does not recognise it.

"You mean who did I steal it from." It is not a question. Mikleo meets his eyes, defiant. "I didn't. It was a gift."

Sorey stutters a bit. "I didn't mean-"

"I know." Mikleo smiles wryly. "But you were thinking it, no?"

That is a harder point to argue. He does his best to shrug nonchalantly.

"Can you blame me? Honestly?"

"No."

Mikleo leaves it at that. Silence falls over the again. It presses on Sorey's ears and makes him aware of every shift of their clothing.

He watches Mikleo closely. Here, alone together, neither of them is capable of putting up the usual front. Mikleo is subtle about it, but Sorey can tell when he is being carefully watched. It feels a lot like being alone with a cornered animal.

Even so, Mikleo seems to be relaxing just slightly. He shifts in place his eyes drifting around the small space. There is no trace of the flirty troublemaker Sorey is used to seeing in his expression.

It makes it difficult for Sorey to take his eyes off him. He has never seen such a thing, and at this point Mikleo has become something of an urban legend at the department. Here, sitting on a dirt floor with one knee raised and one elbow resting on it, holding a bloody tissue to his face, he looks almost human. His hair is coated in dust that lightens its dark shade.

Mikleo's gaze continues to drift, eventually meeting Sorey's. For a moment, there is something indecipherable in his expression. Then it shutters again.

"This is some mess," he says, impressed. "I mean, I've seen you do some dumb stuff before…"

Sorey blinks. "Excuse me?"

Mikleo's mouth tugs, the shadow of his usual playfulness.

Sorey balks. "This is not my fault."

Mikleo tilts his head in challenge.

"You did follow me into a structurally unsound cave as it was crumbling around me."

Sorey holds up a finger, but comes up short on what he wants to say. The first thing that comes up in his mind is "I've followed you into more reckless things than that", but it sounds a little too sincere for the situation. He hesitates for too long, and Mikleo raises an amused eyebrow.

"You did not know that it was going to crumble," Sorey says, perfectly sure of that. Mikleo smiles.

"Yeah," he says faintly. "Fair enough."

Sorey follows his eyes to look up at the darkness above them. He can see the ceiling of the cave they were in before. It is the only part of that tunnel he can see. Both the door from before and the way they came are dark without the fluorescents to light them. They will never be able to climb up there on their own with such loose walls all around them.

"So," he says. "I suppose we wait, then."

Mikleo is staring at the ceiling as though glaring it down will give him the answer to this issue. He huffs a sigh.

"Yeah", he says. "I suppose we do."

* * *

 

"Alisha, Sorey, do you read me?"

Zaveid is not panicking. He is better at his job than that. With all his agents scrambling, he cannot play favourites. He still worries.

It has been fifteen minutes since the rumble that shook the whole mansion. His agents are running this way and that trying to secure each other, the vaults, and Lukas at the same time. Zaveid is taking roll call still and putting out fires as they pop up.

He listens tensely to the static over the comms. According to the security cameras, Alisha was last in the west wing, towards the back of the house. A lot of them have gone out, and he now has very limited resources to work with. Sorey was last seen disappearing behind a painting into a wall, which does very little to comfort him. The explosion seemed to shake the whole mountain.

It was an explosion. He knows his much already. An earthquake is not that sudden, and they do not occur in northwest Hyland for the Lords' sake. Something else is happening here, and unless he has a shiny new reckless escape plan, it likely does not have to do with Mikleo's presence.

His heart just about drops into his stomach when the comms spark and he hears Alisha's voice.

"I'm here. What's the team's status?"

He leans over the desk briefly to breathe. It takes just a second.

"Thirty people alive and accounted for," he says, his voice unwavering. It is most of their stationed team, and he will find the rest of them. "We're unable to contact Sorey. I want you to see if you can secure him."

"Roger. Alisha out."

That situation handled for the moment, Zaveid switches the channel to another comm.

"Zaveid to Lailah. Do you read?"

He listens closely to the static, searching for flickers of a voice. There is nothing.

He puts a finger to the comm in his ear.

"Lailah, can you hear me?"

There is nothing. Zaveid allows himself only a moment to compose himself before he taps into another frequency.

"All teams, report. I need search parties and evacuation. Quickly."

He listens to them all report their statuses in sequence, but his mind is difficult to calm. He has to find her. He has to.

* * *

 

With little else to do in the darkness, Sorey quickly begins to fiddle with the comm in his pocket. It gives only static when he puts it in his ear. Mikleo glances at him only briefly before looking back at the circlet in his lap.

Sorey eyes him suspiciously.

"I know you have something to do with this," he says in a casual, conversational tone. "I just don't know how you did it."

"Quite honestly," Mikleo says, "I'm not sure I know either. I can't claim to know every little detail of my team's operation. I do take pride in them, though."

Sorey ignores that little bit of smugness and abandons the effort to fix his faulty tech. With nothing else to hold his attention, he figures he should make conversation.

The thing is that this situation is different from all the others in which he has seen Mikleo before. There is no need to stall for time because neither of them can affect who will be able to dig them out first. They simply have to wait. With all other pretences gone, he has little to no idea of what kind of conversation he can make.

But, he thinks, if he gets to speak plainly, then he will do so.

"How did Lukas know that you would be here? Do you know?"

The question has been eating at him since he saw the first glimpse of Mikleo's face. He was convinced that this would be a waste of time, and yet Marlin was right in his assumption. It simply makes no sense.

Mikleo has taken the liberty of lying down now, his head 'cushioned' on a bit of rocky debris. He turns his head gingerly to look at Sorey, as his eyes were previously on the hole far above them.

"Marlin said that to you?" he asks lazily, or perhaps he is just drained by the shock and his injuries. Sorey considers checking on the wound again, but if Mikleo feels any better, he will in no way stand for that. Sorey remembers that moment at the ball, when Mikleo backed off from a simple brush of the lips to his temple.

"He was convinced you'd try to steal the bowl he dug up."

"Was he now?" Mikleo's face draws into an amused, if tired smile. "In any other situation, I might be tempted to do so."

There are more questions within that, but none that he could expect an answer to.

"How did Marlin know you'd come?"

Mikleo's eyes flutter. "Because he knows who I'm up against."

The question slips from him before he can stop it. "What does that mean?"

As expected, Mikleo clams up at that. His eyes return to the open ceiling, and his hand worries the circlet on his chest. He is dusty and dirty, and everything Sorey has never seen before.

"Nothing," he says faintly.

Sorey inwardly curses himself. He was getting close to actual progress. But then again, perhaps he has gotten farther than he expected tonight. He knows now that this is more than Mikleo's own initiative. Whether he is in the lead in his dispute for emeralds and whatever Marlin has is anyone's guess, but Sorey has a feeling that it has to do with more than a simple race to a prize. Mikleo is involved in something, and it seems more hostile than usual.

"You're being unusually honest with me," he says, because it is true. If he can expect little else, he can hope to see more of Mikleo's actual personality. He has always known that the flirting, the jokes, that all of it is a persona that Mikleo puts on for him. He enjoys it, but it makes him endlessly curious. How much of it is real?

"I guess I'm having one of those days." Mikleo shrugs gently.

"It's out of character for you, I have to say." Sorey pries, now with no expectations at all. Now, he simply hopes to pass the time until they can get out of this place. Darkness can only feel safe for so long. Mikleo frowns suspiciously.

"What are you asking me?"

"Nothing, I think," he says, shrugging as well. "It's just surprising, is all."

"I'm full of them, you know." Mikleo's expression softens into a smile, but it is clearly only for Sorey's benefit. For the persona. It quickly ends and he turns back to the ceiling again, as though hinting for the conversation to be over now. He is obviously exhausted, and perhaps a bit less reserved just because of that. Sorey can sympathise with that. It is perhaps the reason he says the next words he says.

"I like that eye colour on you a lot."

There is a pause, and then Mikleo turns amethyst eyes on him again, surprise plain on his face.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Sorey says, fully aware that he has abandoned any useful line of questioning, but the exhaustion is beginning to set in for him too. "It's grown on me very quickly. Might be one of my favourites by now."

There is no interpreting the expression that comes over Mikleo's face for just a moment before it turns to a smile that Sorey has hardly ever seen before. He wonders what it means.

"Thanks. They're my favourite too."

It is interesting and amusing to find out that Mikleo has a favourite - perhaps even a comfort - eye colour. If he was truly not expecting them here, then that means he went with something he himself preferred, which lends his statement further credibility. It is the same discussion it always is, with nothing truly learned between them, but it feels different somehow. Another thing Sorey cannot put his finger on.

"You're smiling."

He blinks. "So are you."

He does not mean for it to sound quite that flirty, but it fits well enough with where the conversation has gone. But Mikleo surprises him by lightly, carefully, shaking his head.

"No," he says, "Not like that. You're really smiling. Like it's genuine." He stares at him the way Sorey would a piece at a museum, gentle yet awed curiosity. "I've never seen that before, I think."

Sorey considers it.

"No, I guess you haven't." He smiles a little wider, just to see the glint in Mikleo's eyes. "Better or worse than the usual ones?"

Mikleo shakes his head fondly, then cringes with the pain of it.

"Better," he says softly.

There is an actual blush forming on Sorey's face. Out of all the things they have ever said to each other, nothing has felt as much like a real compliment as this. He ducks his head without really meaning to. Then he fiddles some more with the comm in his hands to have something to focus on.

Then Mikleo says into the silence, "Thank you."

Sorey looks up. "Hm?"

"Thank you," Mikleo repeats faintly. "For the help."

He taps lightly on the tissue with the hand holding it. Sorey considers handing him another for a moment before it properly sinks in what Mikleo just said. The realisation coaxes him into another of those genuine smiles.

"Anytime."

* * *

 

Zaveid's voice grows more clipped and sharp with each agent that reports nothing found, on Sorey or Lailah. Alisha has found a cave-in on the other side of a painting in one of Marlin's rooms. No one has found anything else.

"Jenkins," he says firmly. "Take your team and search the second floor. We need to assess the damage."

His teams are all scrambling around like headless chickens, and he is trying not to panic in the centre of it all. He has to be the stable one here, or they will all fall apart.

He pings her again.

"Zaveid to Lailah. Lailah, can you hear me?"

Static. He listens intently to it for a full ten seconds. Then there is a flicker. Just a sound like a click in he background.

Zaveid draws in a sharp breath. Lailah's voice is sweet in his ears, though all business.

"Lailah here. I'm located outside the house and two kilometres down the mountain. I'm going to need some backup."

He swallows hard. He will not let go of this stability until everyone is safely out. Had it been any other situation, he might have sagged against the desk with relief.

"What's your status, agent?"

Lailah answers him over the static and whoosh of the wind.

"I'm uninjured, but I'll need that backup fast. We've got more than one thief in this place."

* * *

 

"Do you know how long we've been down here?" Mikleo asks.

Sorey glances at his wrist and quickly realises why that will not help.

"Sorry, didn't bring a watch. No idea."

Mikleo nods. "Fair enough."

It is one of a few smaller interactions they have had while waiting. One of them will say something, the other will answer, and they will return to silence once more. There is not much else to do, and it feels awkward to have nothing more to add to it. It seems Mikleo feels similarly to how Sorey does about the situation, because his next question is more impactful than the first.

"Do you want Lefay out of your city?"

Sorey stares at him for a long moment, just making sure he understands the words themselves. However, it does make sense that Mikleo knows. He was in that museum as well, after all.

"Are you offering to help?" he asks, half joking and half just making conversation.

"I could," Mikleo says, shocking him into silence again. Sorey's eyebrows draw together in a frown.

"What does Lefay have to do with you, anyway? Why are you after his heirlooms?"

"Why are you at Interpol?" Mikleo asks.

Sorey huffs. "I asked you first."

"Indeed you did." Mikleo says warmly. "But as we aren't five years old, I choose to ignore that."

Sorey shrugs. "It was the job I wanted, and I got it. There's nothing more I can add there."

"Yes there is," Mikleo says softly. Sorey raises his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"You're one of the top agents at Interpol at, what, twenty-five?" Mikleo shakes his head gently. "There's got to be a reason for that."

Sorey looks at him for a long moment, weighing his answer.

"Twenty-seven," he says, mimicking perfectly that smooth, smug tone that Mikleo uses when he is being difficult. "But I'm flattered at that estimate. Thank you."

Mikleo stares into his eyes, as though the answer will be plain in there if not in Sorey's words. He huffs.

"Fair enough. I guess-"

He is suddenly interrupted by the sharp clatter of pebbles on stone. Sorey looks up in alarm and reaches for the flashlight. He shines it up at the ceiling, but there is nothing there to see. Only to hear.

They flinch at the sound of something clanging on the other side of the door far above them, the one Mikleo was trying to pick before. More pebbles shake loose from the wall and fall around them. They seem to be all that is dislodging, though the precarious nature of the situation is unsettling, still.

Mikleo begins to sit up.

"What do you know," he says. "Looks like I win."

Sorey's mind is suddenly racing for ways he can defend himself should whoever is on the other side decide to pick a fight with him. He aches all over and finds it difficult to stand on his left leg. He would not stand a chance.

"It appears you do," he says calmly to Mikleo.

There is another clang, and then a crack and a whine as the door swings open. He can see at least two faces, though he cannot quite make them out.

"Mikleo?" Someone - a woman - yells from above.

Mikleo closes his eyes. Clearly the sound goes straight to his headache. Sorey gestures for him to cover his ears, and he does.

Sorey shouts back, because what else can he do?

"He's injured," he says. "You'll need to help him out."

He has a couple of weapons that might still help him out here. Pretending compliance is at least his best bet.

The woman yells again, "Understood. You two steer clear of this edge, okay?"

"Alright," Sorey yells. He gestures for Mikleo to move over to his side.

Mikleo does so with some difficulty. They watch side by side as two figures rappel down the side of the hole, unsettling pebbles and rocks as they go. They land on the dirt floor where Sorey can see that they are dressed in the black and white uniforms of the Scattered Bones guild. His heart just about sinks into his stomach at this realisation.

"You alright?" the woman asks.

Mikleo nods once.

"Just a headache. I'll have someone look at it once I'm out."

Sorey does not miss the subtle glance his way. In a way, he finds it flattering.

The assassins both nod. The Scattered Bones wear masks on all their missions, and so it is impossible to make out an expression on either of them.

"What do you want done about him?"

Sorey startles at the nod in his direction. Mikleo's hand is suddenly on his wrist, squeezing for a moment that is as fleeting as a blink of the eye before it is gone. Mikleo heaves himself up.

"Nothing. Leave him. Let's go."

He does not so much as look at Sorey as they strap him in. Slowly the three of them disappear into the darkness above him. Sorey watches them go, and only once they are up and out of sight does he allow himself a sigh of relief. He is safe to wait for his own team.

The thought of them makes him wonder how worried everyone is. If they have yet to reach him, then the cave in must be worse than it looks. They likely think he is dead already. His heart aches to reassure them of the truth.

A sharp snapping sound startles him into looking up again. He blinks to make out the shape of something new in the small space. It is a rope, he realises. One that hangs from a point beyond the doorway far above him.

Perplexed, he listens to the sound of footsteps retreating above. They echo in the cave and down the unknown hallway. He looks back at the rope.

Rising, he approaches it and makes to reach for it, but something stops his hand halfway. There is a sudden crinkle of something inside his glove that was definitely not there before. He takes it off and pulls out a small folded piece of paper.

With growing realisation, he unfolds it and reads the list of names, many of them the same as the list he got from Felice at that nightclub. It becomes immediately clear to him what they mean, and this list has a bullet point beneath each name with an address and a set of numbers. He guesses them to be passcodes, likely to alarms. Perhaps even safes.

"Evidence," it reads on the outside as he folds it back up. Despite himself, he chuckles, and it echoes in the space as well.

"You little..."

Sorey tugs on the rope. It goes taut. It is secure.

He begins to climb.


	11. Epilogue

 Asura Lefay strides into his office with the air of a man slighted. His assistant, Mercy, watches calmly as he looms over the neat desk. 

"You have another associate to discuss this with," she suggests, intending to be helpful but succeeding only in grating on his nerves. He waves a dismissive hand at her. 

"I'll deal with it later," he says. "We need to get the Cooper delivery out of the city."

"Already dealt with, sir," she says, flipping through the papers in her hands as she speaks. "They're safely out and on the road."

"And the Rosewood?"

"Being prepared as we speak."

He sighs and rubs at his eyes. At least part of his day will not have to consist of breaking fingers. 

"What's the status on Hecaton?" 

She looks him in the eyes and adjusts the papers in her hands. Outwardly, it is the only sign of her discomfort. 

"No update, sir." 

"Idiot," he mutters to himself. Then, to her, "Never trust family with important work."

"I would never, sir," she says flatly. "Would you like me to look into it?"

Asura considers it for a long moment, stalking from one end of the office to the other like a restless animal in a cage. Hecaton has been gone for far too long now, and this matter is more important than most. Still, he would only get more difficult if given the impression that his brother was spying on him, true as it may be in many cases. 

Hecaton was always difficult, he thinks, though in truth he can be dealt with more easily than the matter of those emeralds. 

"Please do," he says. Mercy nods once. 

"Right away, sir." She turns to head out the door, but just as she does, someone appears to block it. It is a man from Hecaton's guard, broad-shouldered and straight-backed. He cowers just a bit under Asura's hard gaze. 

"You." The sharp tone gets the guard's attention even more. "You're from my brother's company. Report."

The guard looks nervously between the two of them. Asura waves irritably to signal that it is fine to bring his business up in front of Mercy. 

"I have news from Ladylake," he says. 

"And?" Asura makes no effort to keep the biting tone out of his voice. He never does. "What is it? Why would he send you and not a message directly to me?"

The guard's eyes flit nervously again, but this time he does a good job of composing himself. 

"The news aren't from your brother, sir," he says, then amends, "Well, not only."

"Speak," Asura says sharply, like a command to an unruly dog. "What then?"

"It's the Lady Forton, sir," the guard says, effectively stunning both boss and assistant. "She sent a message for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! II've posted on my social media recently that I will go on a hiatus after this. This is to work on some personal projects for some time. I'll keep you posted on when I start writing fanfiction again, at which point I will probably be starting with Emerald first. But this story is not over, and there will be a sequel some time after that. In the meanwhile, thank you so much for reading and commenting, and if you'd like to contact me, you can do so through the pages listed in my profile ^_^
> 
> Hope you're having a great weekend!


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